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MAYFAIR  10  MOSCOW - 

CLARE    SHERIDAN'S    DIARY 


CLARE  SHERIDAN 


MAYFAIR 

TO    MOSCOW- 
CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY 


BONT   AND   LIVERTGHT 
PUnUSHERS  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1921, 
By  Boni  &  LivEKiGHT   Inc. 


All  rights  reserved 


Printed  in   the   United  States   of   America 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Clare  Sheridan Frontispiece 

facing 
Paffc 

Bust  of  Krassin 26 

View  of  Guest  House 80 

Bust  of  Zinoviev 93 

Bust  of  Dsirjinsky 98 

Bust  of   Lenin .      .  114 

Bust  of  Trotzky 152 

Group  on  Aquitania 230 


The  illustrations  of  the  busts  have  bocn  made  from 
the  originals  done  by  Clare  Sheridan. 


MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW- 
CLARE    SHERIDAN'S    DIARY 


MAYFAIR  TO    MOSCOW 


The  publication  of  a  diary  not  meant  for  pub- 
lication seems  to  demand  some  introduction  and 
explanation.  I  have  always  kept  a  diary,  even  In 
comparatively  monotonous  as  in  eventful  days, 
but  I  am  not  a  writer.  It  is  almost  with  a  feeling 
of  apology  that  I  venture  to  swell  the  ranks  of 
those  who  publish  their  little  books  after  their 
little  visits  to  Russia.  In  doing  so  I  do  not  pre- 
tend to  present  a  picture  of  Russia.  I  was  only 
in  Moscow  where  portrait  work,  not  politics,  was 
my  concern. 

What  I  learnt  about  Bolshevism  and  the  point 
of  view  of  its  leaders  can  come  from  illustrative 
remarks,  often  quite  casually  made,  as  for  in- 
stance when  I  was  solemnly  asked  one  day  what 
position  Bernard  Shaw  would  hold  in  the  new 
Labor  Cabinet,  and  they  were  surprised  when  I 
giggled. 

There  are  people  in  England  who  are  indig- 
nant at  my  sculpting  Lenin  and  Trotsky.      I  licrc 


II 


12  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

were  people  in  Moscow  who  were  horrified  be- 
cause I  had  done  Winston  Churchill  and  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  do  D'Annunzio,  but  as  I  am 
before  all  else  a  portraitist,  it  is  the  psychology 
of  people  that  interests  me,  not  their  politics.  I 
love  humanity,  with  its  force  and  its  weakness,  its 
ambitions  and  fears,  its  honesty  and  its  lack  of 
scruples,  its  perfection  and  deformities. 

If  I  found  any  of  the  Bolshevik  leaders  human, 
agreeable  and  even  kindly,  it  is  probably  because 
they  reacted  as  all  human  nature  does,  to  the 
attitude  of  mind  with  which  It  is  met. 

If  I  have  any  political  views  In  my  own  coun- 
try they  are  certainly  not  in  harmony  with  the 
policy  of  Mr.  Lloyd  George.  Nevertheless  I 
have  found  myself  next  to  him  at  dinner  and  en- 
joyed our  discussions  on  abstract  subjects,  never 
touching  politics.  It  may  even  be  that  the  Prime 
Minister  equally  enjoyed  these  discussions  which 
gave  his  mind  a  rest  from  the  work  he  was  in- 
tent upon.  It  seemed  that  certain  of  the  Soviet 
rulers  with  whom  I  talked  were  just  as  happy 
(and  more  so),  than  Mr.  Lloyd  George,  to  find 
some  one  with  whom  it  was  not  necessary  to  pur- 
sue the  political  problem.  Especially  was  this 
the  case  with  Trotsky  whom  I  found  very  cul- 
tured and  companionable,  and  with  whom  I 
hardly  at  all  talked  about  Revolutions! 

Before  I  started  for  Russia  my  cousin  Winston 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         13 

Churchill  came  to  lunch  at  my  studio,  and  so  also 
Mr.  Ambrose  McEvoy  (the  English  portrait 
painter).  A  short  while  ago,  just  after  I  had 
landed  In  New  York,  I  met  McEvoy  and  he* 
talked  to  me  about  that  luncheon,  and  commented 
on  my  discretion  In  not  disclosing  my  acquaint- 
ance with  the  Bolshevik  emissaries  In  London, 
and  nev^er  breathing  a  suggestion  of  my  prospec- 
tive visit  to  Russia !  On  the  same  occasion  we 
discussed  Bolshevism  pretty  openly.  I  remember 
that  Winston  said  Bolshevism  was  a  crocodile, 
that  either  you  must  shoot  It,  or  else  make  a 
detour  round  It  so  as  not  to  rouse  It!  But  I 
gathered  that  Immediate  attack  was  the  policy  he 
favored.  But  whatever  his  views  were,  I  ha\'c 
always  loved  him  as  I  would  a  brother,  and  I 
have  admired  him  for  his  undoubted  courage  and 
purposefulness;  and  though  I  do  not  always  agree 
with  him,  we  find  other  subjects  of  deep  Interest 
to  us  both,  to  talk  about — and  always  he  Is  In- 
teresting. 

At  the  time  when  I  was  doing  his  portrait  bust, 
he  said  to  me  thoughtfully  one  day:  "Clare!  You 
have  the  most  enviable  position  in  the  world — 
you  are  a  woman,  you  are  an  artist,  you  are  free 
and  you  have  children."  Lie  has  often  said  to 
me:  "Do  you  realize  Jiozu  lucky  you  are?"  I 
wonder  if  he  is  right,  that  as  a  woman  my  talents 
are  the  more  valuable  to  me.     Certain  It  is  that 


14  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

everything  good  and  interesting  and  all  the  things 
worth  while  that  have  come  to  me  have  come 
through  my  work. 

I  did  not  always  work,  and  that  is  why  parts  of 
my  diary  need  explanation,  parts  in  which,  owing 
to  a  mood  or  an  incident,  I  have  burst  out  im- 
patiently with  criticism  of  my  bringing-up. 

One  does  not  readily  tell  of  oneself,  especially 
if  one  is  not  self-absorbed.  But  I  have  been 
asked  to  explain  why  I  became  a  worker. 

Some  day,  when  I  am  no  longer  physically 
strong  enough  to  continue  the  life  of  a  sculptor, 
I  shall,  in  the  evening  of  my  days,  write  a  book, 
and  it  will  tell  of  things  from  the  beginning,  and 
be  written  with  pure  sincerity.  It  will  relate  and 
explain  many  things,  and  some  people  will  not 
care  to  read  it  because  it  will  not  be  all  happiness 
and  there  are  many  who  v/ill  not  face  reality. 

In  the  meantime  I  exert  myself  to  make  up  for 
many  years  spent  and  wasted — wasted  In  that 
they  were  unproductive.  Like  many  of  my  gen- 
eration I  was  brought  up  with  the  idea  that  for  a 
girl  It  was  only  necessary  to  know  French,  take 
care  of  one's  hands  and  do  one's  hair  carefully 
in  order  to  get  married  and  live  happily  ever 
after.  I  did  not  marry  Immediately.  Contrari- 
ness In  childhood  becomes  rebelliousness  In  girl- 
hood, and  the  more  I  realized  that  marriage  was 
expected  of  me  the  more  resolutely  I  prepared 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         15 

my  mind  for  spinsterhood.  I  remember  one  sum- 
mer evening  walking  home  across  a  square;  in  a 
house  in  which  all  the  curtains  were  drawn  back 
and  the  window^s  opened  wide,  a  ball  was  going 
on.  One  could  not  hear  the  music,  and  the 
figures  revolving  silently  looked  absurd.  I  seemed 
to  see  ourselves  as  the  man  in  the  street  sees  us. 
The  impression  was  indelible.  I  was  bored,  too, 
by  my  absence  of  purpose  and  the  unproductive- 
ness of  my  time. 

After  that  summer  evening  I  spent  a  good 
many  of  my  days  in  Italy.  Sometimes  in  a  re- 
mote fishing  village  where  I  grew  to  love  the 
people,  or  in  the  wilds  of  Anacapri,  beyond  the 
tourist  track,  and  also  in  Rome  and  in  Florence 
where  the  beauty  of  things  enveloped  me, — when 
it  was  not  the  little  naked  bathing  figures  it  was 
the  sculpture  I  loved;  and  when  the  guardian  of 
the  museum  had  turned  his  back,  I  would  run  my 
lingers  over  a  marble  torso,  so  that  my  finger 
tips  tingled  with  emotion  and  my  heart  beat  faster 
quite  unexplainably. 

Sometimes,  in  contrast  to  my  Italian  days,  I 
would  spend  a  winter  in  Stockholm  with  the 
Crown  Princess  Margaret  and  the  Crown  Prince 
of  Sweden.  Princess  Margaret,  who  was  Eng- 
lish (a  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Connaught), 
was  extremely  artistic  and  painted  so  well  that 
the  leading  artists  in  Sweden  declared  that  if  she 


i6  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

had  not  been  born  a  Royalty  she  would  have  been 
a  great  painter.  As  it  was  her  duties  were  too 
varied  to  permit  of  any  serious  study, -but  we 
used  to  spend  whole  weeks  on  painting  expedi- 
tions and  get  very  absorbed  and  enthusiastic. 
Some  of  the  most  interesting  artists  in  Sweden 
who  were  her  friends  used  to  come  and  help  us 
and  criticize  and  advise.  We  worked  very  hard 
and  made  great  progress.  There  was  something 
in  the  snow  scenes  that  suggested  shapes  and 
forms,  and  my  joy  in  painting  them  was  almost 
more  the  joy  of  form  than  of  color.  Form  was 
a  subconscious  god  in  my  heart. 

Then  one  day  the  inevitable  happened;  it  was 
in  England,  and  it  was  on  the  longest  day  of  the 
year,  a  day  which  seemed  that  day  all  too  short. 
I  got  engaged  to  be  married.  For  four  years 
after  that  I  lived  in  the  country,  and  during  those 
years  I  forgot  everything  except  the  creation  of 
forms  that  I  was  Intent  upon.  The  two  children 
which  are  the  result — are  my  best  bits  of  creative 
work,  and  work  that  will  live.  We  had  a  Tudor 
farmhouse  near  Guildford  In  Surrey,  and  at  a 
place  near  by  called  Compton,  Mrs.  Watts,  the 
widow  of  G.  F.  Watts*  had  a  village  pottery.  It 
was  quite  an  ambitious  industry;  they  turned  out 
lovely  terra  cotta  garden  pots  of  Italian  design 
and  there  were  local  artists  engaged  on  small  alle- 

*  The  famous  painter. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         17 

gorical  figures.  Such  an  industry  in  Italy  would 
have  been  productive  of  great  talent,  even  of 
genius,  and  even  in  Surrey  the  efifort  was  not  un- 
fruitful. 

I  used  to  carry  home  loads  of  clay  with  me, 
and  work  out  little  things  of  my  own.  These  used 
to  be  criticized  and  approved  by  Mrs,  Watts,  and 
so  I  began  in  a  humble  dilettante  way. 

When  the  little  flickering  flame  within  me  began 
to  develop  into  a  burning  fire  of  ambition;  when 
it  dawned  on  me  that  dead  clay  could  be  brought 
to  life, — a  husband  who  was  rather  clairvoyant, 
and  doubtless  had  visions  of  a  neglected  home, 
said  "no" — and  the  flame  was  suppressed  into  a 
rather  sullen  domesticity. 

What  next? — The  war,  unexpected  and  over- 
whelming! 

The  abandoned  home,  the  pursuit  of  arms,  the 
collapse  of  a  business  firm,  a  shattered  outlook. 
Then  the  birth  of  a  son,  and  six  days  later  widow- 
hood. I  rose  from  my  childbed  and  viewed  the 
same  scene,  but  knew  it  was  another  world.  It 
has  been  another  world  ever  since.  The  smolder- 
ing flame  rekindled,  was  fed  and  heaped  with 
fuel. — A  great  friend  of  mine,  John  Tweed,  a 
former  pupil  of  Rodin,  asked  me  to  go  to  work 
in  his  studio.  There  I  met  Professor  Lanteri,  who 
offered  to  teach  me  in  his  own  private  studio  at 
the  South  Kensington  College  of  Art.      Princess 


1 8  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

Patricia,  who  was  a  friendof  my  girlhood,  offered, 
for  fun,  to  sit  for  me.  Professor  Lanterl  helped 
me  to  achieve  of  her  a  statuette  which  I  exhibited 
creditably.  Shortly  afterwards  the  Professor 
died.  He  was  one  of  the  saints  of  this  world, — 
he  even  had  the  face  of  a  saint.  I  missed  him 
terribly;  he  had  been  a  wonderful  friend.  His 
death  forced  m^e  to  stand  on  my  own  feet  and  in 
a  new  world.  But  that  world  began  to  give  me 
orders  for  portraits,  so  I  ran  before  I  could  walk; 
I  learnt  to  w^alk  (and  to  crawl  too)  afterwards  1 
For  five  years  I  studied  as  I  earned,  and  I  cram- 
med all  the  work  that  my  pent  up  forces  made 
me  do.  I  had  luck,  and  I  had  love  of  the  work 
and  great  health.  Belief,  Imagination  and 
capacity  for  work  will  carry  one  a  long  way  on 
the  roughest  of  roads.  Mine,  I  know,  is  still  a 
long  road  to  travel,  and  I  like,  too,  to  feel  that 
the  end  of  it  is  still  very  far  away.  I  have  tried 
to  describe  the  road  that  I  have  traveled  up  to 
the  present  point,  and  perhaps  it  will  ex- 
plain  ? 

Meanwhile,  the  diary  opens  on  the  day  when 
I  met  Kamenev  In  London.  It  seems  an  abrupt 
beginning,  but  whatever  went  before  had  very 
little  connection.  It  is  often  through  little  ac- 
cidents that  one's  life  is  altered.  I  had  been  en- 
gaged  to  go  yachting  with  some  friends  In  August. 
I  had  worked  very  hard  for  a  year  and  was  badly 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         19 

in  need  of  a  holiday.  The  yacht  at  the  last 
moment  ran  ashore  and  had  to  go  into  dock.  The 
day  I  should  have  gone  yachting  was  the  day  my 
friend  asked  me  if  I  would  like  to  meet  Kamenev 
and  Krassin. 

I  jumped  at  it,  having  a  great  curiosity  to  meet 
a  Bolshevik,  for  I  felt  mystified  and  completely 
ignorant  about  them.  I  had  often  thought  that  if 
I  could  choose  out  of  the  whole  world  a  head  to 
portray,  I  would  select  Lenin  as  the  most  in- 
teresting, illusive  and  unattainable  I  I  never 
dreamt  that  the  chance  would  come. 

I  have  been  asked  why  I,  a  woman  alone,  ven- 
tured into  the  Bolshevik  midst?  I  claim  that  the 
mere  fact  of  being  a  woman  alone  arouses  the 
chivalry  of  those  one  meets.  Every  one's  pro- 
tection is  better  than  some  one's.  I  felt  in  AIos- 
cow  what  I  have  felt  since  I  landed  in  New  York, 
the  instmctive  chivalry  of  man  tovv^ards  a  stranger 
in  his  midst. 

But  here  I  must  end,  for  my  book  has  already 
gone  to  print,  and  a  messenger  is  standing  at  the 
door  waiting  to  snatch  this  foreword.  He  re- 
minds me  of  how  G.  F.  Watts  pursued  his  colos- 
sal figure  of  "Physical  Energy"  and  continued  to 
work  on  it  as  it  was  being  carried  away  to  the 
bronze  foundry.  Watts  was  not  a  sculptor  but 
his    "Physical    Energy"    expressed   what    was    in 


20  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

Watts.  I  am  not  a  writer  and  spiritually  I  pursue 
this  on  its  way  to  print,  ev^en  as  Watts;  and  as 
desperately,  and  too  late  see  the  things  that  want 

putting  right. 

Clare  Sheridan. 

New  York,  Feb.  12,  192 1. 


II 


August  14TII,  1920.     Saturday. 

According  to  Mr.  Fisher's  instructions,  I  called 
lon  Mr.  M at  his  office  at  10:30  and  Intro- 
duced myself. 

He  took  me  in  a  taxi  to  Bond  Street  to  the 
office  of  Messrs.  Kamenev^  and  Krassin.  We 
waited  for  about  twenty  minutes  in  an  ante- 
chambre,  and  I  felt  a  certain  melodramatic  thrill. 
Here  was  I,  at  all  events  in  the  outer  den  of  these 
wild  beasts  who  have  been  represented  as  ready 
to  spring  upon  us  and  devour  usl  This  move- 
ment that  has  caused  consternation  to  the  world, 
and  these  people,  so  utterly  removed  from  my 
environment,  these  myths  of  what  seemed  almost 
a  great  legend,  I  was  now  quite  close  to.  Mean- 
while, the  clerks  in  the  office  occupied  my  atten- 
tion. They  interested  me  as  types,  and  I  won- 
dered about  them,  about  exactly  WHAT  In  their 
lives  had  made  them  into  Bolsheviks,  and  what 
sort  of  mentality  was  theirs  and  whether  the 
schemes  they  upheld  were  developing  Into  a  work- 
able concern. 

While  we  waited  Mr.  M put  me  straight 

on   a   few  points   and   pointed  out   many   of   the 

ai 


22  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

inaccuracies  about  Bolshevism  that  people  like 
myself  have  gleaned,  so  I  was  in  part  prepared 
and  protected  against  appearing  too  ignorant  and 
foolish. 

At  last  the  word  came  and  we  were  ushered 
into  the  office  of  Mr.  Kamenev  who  received  me 
amiably  and  smilingly.  We  started  off  almost 
immediately,  in  French,  and  discussed  the  subject 
of  his  being  willing  to  sit  to  me.  I  then  asked 
him  if  a  Soviet  Government  had  obliterated  Art 
in  Russia.  He  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  in 
astonishment,  and  then  said:  "Mais  nonf  Artists 
are  the  most  privileged  class." 

I  asked  if  they  were  able  to  earn  a  living  wage. 
He  replied  that  they  were  paid  higher  than  the 
Government  Ministers.  He  gave  me  fully  to 
understand  that  Russia  is  most  appreciative  of 
Art  and  Talent  and  is  anxious  to  surround  itself 
with  culture.  He  thought  the  bust  had  better  be 
started  soon,  as  one  never  knew  what  might  hap- 
pen from  one  moment  to  the  next,  "what  caprice 
of  Monsieur  Lloyd  George"  might  elect  to  send 
him  out  of  the  country  at  a  moment's  notice.  So 
we  decided  on  Tuesday  next,  at  lo  A.  M.  Mr. 
Kamenev  then  took  us  downstairs  to  Krassin's 
office.  Mr.  Krassin  seemed  very  busy  and  pre- 
occupied, had  some  one  in  the  room  and  didn't 
quite  know  what  T  had  come  about,  but  he  agreed 
to  sit  to  me  Wednesday  next  at  lo  A.  M. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY        23 

August  17TH,  1920.     Tuesday. 

Kamenev  arrived  nearly  punctually  at  10  A.  m. 
for  an  hour,  but  he  stayed  till  i  o'clock,  and  we 
talked  the  whole  three  hours,  almost  without 
stopping.  I  don't  know  how  I  managed  to  work 
and  talk  so  much.  My  mind  was  really  more 
focused  on  the  discussion,  and  the  work  was  done 
subconsciously.  At  all  events  when  the  three 
hours  were  ended,  I  had  produced  a  likeness. 

There  is  very  little  modeling  in  his  face;  it  is 
a  perfect  oval,  and  his  nose  is  straight  with  the 
line  of  his  forehead,  but  slightly  turns  up  at  the 
end,  which  is  a  pity.  It  is  difficult  to  make  him 
look  serious,  as  he  smiles  all  the  time.  Even 
when  his  mouth  is  severe  his  eyes  laugh. 

My  "Victory"  was  unveiled  when  he  arrived, 
and  he  noticed  it  at  once.  I  told  him  it  repre- 
sented the  Victory  of  the  Allies,  and  he  ex- 
claimed: "But,  no  I  It  is  the  Victory  of  all  the 
ages.  .  .  .  What  painl  What  suffering  I  What 
exhaustion!  .  .  ."  He  then  added  that  it  was 
the  best  bit  of  peace  propaganda  he'd  seen. 

We  had  a  wonderful  conversation.  He  told  me 
all  kinds  of  details  of  the  Soviet  legislation,  their 
ideals  and  aims.  Their  first  care,  he  told  me,  is 
for  the  children;  they  are  the  future  citizens  and 
require  every  protection.  If  parents  are  too  poor 
to  bring  up  their  children,  the  State  will  clothe, 
feed,    harbor    and    educate    them    until    fourteen 


24  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

years  old,  legitimate  and  illegitimate  alike,  and 
they  do  not  need  to  be  lost  to  their  parents,  who 
can  see  them  whenever  they  wish.  This  system,  he 
said,  had  doubled  the  percentage  of  marriages 
(civil  of  course)  ;  it  had  also  allayed  a  good  deal 
of  crime — for  what  crimes  are  not  committed  to 
destroy  illegitimate  children? 

He  described  the  enforced  education  of  all 
classes — he  told  of  the  concerts  they  organize  for 
their  workmen,  and  of  their  appreciation  of 
Bach  and  Wagner. 

They  hav^e  had  to  abandon  (already!)  the  idea 
that  all  should  be  paid  alike.  Admitting  that 
some  are  physically  able  to  work  longer  and  bet- 
ter than  others,  he  granted  therefore  that  there 
have  to  be  grades  of  payment,  and  that  when  great 
talent  shows  itself,  "cela  merite  d'etre  recom- 
pense." 

Chaliapin,  who  used  to  have  the  title  of  "Artist 
to  the  Court,"  is  now  called  "The  Artist  of  the 
People."  Chahapin ,  I  gathered,  was  a  very 
popular  figure. 

After  awhile  Kamenev  let  drop  a  suggestion 
which  did  not  fall  on  barren  ground — he  threw  it 
out  apparently  casually,  but  I  believe  to  see  how 
I  reacted  to  it.  I  had  just  been  telling  him  that 
I  had  all  my  life  a  love  of  Russian  literature, 
Russian  music,  Russian  dancing,  Russian  art,  and 
he  said,  "You  should  come  to  Russia." 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY        25 

I  said  I  had  always  dreamed  it — and  that  per- 
haps— who  knows — some  day.   .  .   . 

He  said:  "You  can  come  with  me  and  I  will 
get  you  sittings  from  Lenin  and  Trotsky." 

I  thought  he  was  joking,  and  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment, then  I  said:  "Let  me  know  when  you  arc 
going  to  start  and  I  will  be  ready  in  half  an  hour." 

He  offered  to  telegraph  immediately  to  Mos- 
cow for  permission  11 


August  i8th,  1920.     Wednesday. 

Krassin  arrived  at  10  A.  M.  and  found  me  read- 
ing the  papers,  sitting  on  the  seat  outside  the 
door.  Like  Kamenev  he  stayed  until  i  o'clock. 
He  has  a  beautiful  head  and  he  sat  almost  sphinx- 
like, severe  and  expressionless  most  of  the  time. 
We  talked,  of  course,  but  his  French  is  less  good 
than  Kamenev's,  and  we  broke  into  occasional 
German — it  was  a  bad  mix-up,  but  we  said  all  we 
wanted  to  say  I 

Kamenev  had  talked  to  him  about  me  and  told 
him  of  the  project  of  my  going  to  Moscow.  I  said 
nothing  about  it  till  he  first  broached  it  I 

What  impresses  me  about  these  two  men  is 
their  impassive  imperturbability,  their  calm,  and 
their  patience.  I  suppose  it  is  the  race,  or  else  they 
learnt  calm  when  they  were  prisoners  in  Siberia. 
They  are  such  a  contrast  to  almost  all  other  sit- 
ters, who  are  restless,  hurried  and  fidgety.     Kras- 


26  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

sin  is  sphinx-like.  He  sits  erect,  his  head  up,  and 
his  pointed,  bearded  chin  sticking  defiantly  out  at 
an  angle,  and  his  mouth  tightly  shut.  He  has  no 
smile  like  Kamenev  and  his  piercing  eyes  just 
looked  at  me  impassively  while  I  worked.  It's 
rather  uncanny, 

Krassin  is  a  Siberian.  He  explained  to  me  that 
his  father  was  a  Government  local  official  and  that 
his  mother  was  a  peasant  and  one  of  twenty-two 
children.  He  himself  was  the  eldest  of  seven  and 
was  brought  up  in  Siberia, 

At  I  o'clock  I  thanked  him  profusely  for  sitting 
so  long  and  so  well,  and  he  seemed  quite  surprised 
at  my  stopping,  and  said:  "You  have  done  with 
me?" 

I  explained  that  I  had  to  catch  a  train,  so, 
having  swallowed  a  fish  and  some  plums,  I 
rushed  down  the  alley  to  my  taxi,  pursued  by 
Rigamonte,  who  abandoned  his  marble  chisel  and 
carried  my  suitcase  and  hurled  in  some  last  things 
to  me. 

I  just  caught  the  1 150  at  Waterloo,  to  Godalm- 
ing,  to  stay  two  days  with  the  Middletons.* 

August  2ist,  1920.     Saturday. 
I  got  back  to  the  studio  about  midday  to  find 
a  huge  bunch  of  roses  and  the  following  note  from 
Kamenev : 

*Earl  Middleton.     Peper  Harrow.     Godalming,   Surrey. 
(The  Hon.  St.  John  Broderick,  Minister  for  War,  during  the 
Boer  VV^ar.) 


CL.\RE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         27 

London,  21st  Aout. 

Chere  Madame, 

Je  vous  prie  la  permission  de  mettre  ces 
roses  rouges  atix  pieds  de  votre  belle  statue 

de  la  Victoire.         «• 

Bien  a  vous, 

L.  K 

I  did  so,  and  when  he  came  at  4  o'clock  to  sit, 
I  thanked  him,  but  said  they  weren't  red  and  that 
it  was  a  pity.  He  looked  as  if  he  didn't  under- 
stand, and  said:  "Yes,  they  are  red — red  for  the 
blood  of  Victory."  The  sentiment  was  right,  but 
he  is  color  blind,  the  roses  are  pinkl  I  didn't 
argue. 

At  about  5   o'clock  S L walked  in 

unexpectedly,  and  was  awfully  surprised  and  in- 
terested  at   finding   Kamenev,    who   was   no   less 

interested   at   hearing   from   S L that 

Archbishop  Mannix  is  his  guest,  and  I  got  a  good 
inning  at  my  work  while  these  two  talked  some 
pretty  plain  stuff. 

Kamenev  and  I  dined  later  at  the  Cafe  Royal, 
and  then  went  on  to  a  Revue  which  was  very  bad, 
but  the  audience  laughed  a  good  deal,  and 
Kamenev  wondered  at  their  childish  appreciation 
of  rubbish. 


28  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

August  22ND,   1920.     Sunday. 

Twelve  hours  with  KamenevM  !  I 

He  arrived  at  1 1  A.  M.  with  a  huge  album  of 
photographs  of  the  Revolution — very  interesting. 
After  looking  at  it  he  sat  to  me  for  an  hour.  We 
lunched  at  Claridge's.  After  lunch  we  went  for 
a  taxi  drive  along  the  embankment,  and  passing 
the  Tate  Gallery,  went  in.  It  is  being  rearranged, 
but  we  found  the  Burne-Jones  that  Kamenev  was 
looking  for.  He  stood  for  a  long  time  before 
"The  King  and  the  Beggar  Maid."  I  suppose  in 
the  new  system  all  the  beggar  maids  are  queens, 
and  the  real  kings  sit  at  their  feet. 

At  4  o'clock  we  went  to  Trafalgar  Square  to 
see  what  was  going  on.  The  Council  of  Action 
were  having  a  meeting.  Kamenev  assured  me 
he  must  not  go  near  the  platform,  or  be  recog- 
nized by  his  friends,  as  he  was  under  promise  to 
the  Government  to  take  no  part  in  demonstra- 
tions, nor  to  do  any  propaganda  work.  However, 
I  dragged  him  by  the  hand  to  the  outskirts  of 
the  crowd,  and  for  no  reason  that  I  can  explain,* 
the  shout  went  up:  "Gangway  for  speakers,"  and 
a  channel  opened  up  before  us  and  we  were  rushed 
along  it. 

Happily  for  Kamenev,  there  was  a  hitch  as  we 
approached  the  platform.  The  crowd  thought  a 
policeman  was  favoritizing  us,  and  getting  us  to 
the  platform,   and  a  youngish  man  said,   "Stop 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY        29 

that,  policeman,  this  is  a  democratic  meeting  1" 
and  tried  to  prevent  us  going  any  farther.  For  a 
while  I  felt  the  hostility  of  the  people  around  me. 

One  of  the  speakers,  referring  to  the  spirit  of 
1914,  said  we  had  given  our  husbands  and  sons 
then,  but  we  didn't  mean  ever  to  give  them  again, 
and  I,  thinking  of  my  boy,  Dick,  joined  in  the 
shouts  of  "Never,  never!"  with  some  feeling,  and 
I  felt  the  atmosphere  kindlier  around  me  after 
that.  When  Lansbury  tried  to  speak  he  was  ac- 
claimed with  cheers  and  had  to  wait  patiently 
while  they  sang:  "For  he's  a  jolly  good  fellow," 
and  cheered  him  again. 

He  seemed  to  me  to  talk  less  of  "Class"  and 
more  of  "Cause."  Just  for  a  second  he  paused, 
saying,  "What  we  have  to  do,  is  to  stop.  .  .  ." 
I  filled  in  the  gap  with  "Mesopotamia."  W^here- 
upon  the  crowd  shouted:  "Hear!  hear!"  and 
"God  bless  you!"  After  that  I  was  one  of  them. 
Then  some  one  recognized  Kamenev  and  the 
whisper  went  round  and  spread  like  wildfire.  The 
men  on  either  side  of  him  asked  if  they  might 
announce  he  was  there,  to  which  he  answered  a 
most  emphatic  "No." 

When  Lansbury  had  finished  speaking  there 
was  an  appeal  for  money  for  the  "Cause."  It 
was  interesting  to  watch  the  steady  rain  of  coins, 
and  very  touching  to  see  how  the  poor  gave  their 


30  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

pennies.  Lansbury  buried  his  face  in  his  hat  to 
shield  himself  from  the  metallic  rain. 

After  that  we  went  away,  and  a  gangAvay  was 
made  for  us,  and  all  along  the  whisper  went  of 
"Kamenev,"  and  the  faces  that  looked  at  us  were 
radiant  as  though  they  beheld  a  saviour. 

We  took  a  taxi  and  drove  to  Hampton  Court, 
and  there  went  outside  the  garden  and  into  the 
park  to  get  away  from  the  Sunday  crowd.  We 
sat  on  his  coat  on  the  grass  in  the  middle  of  an 
open  space,  and  the  air  was  hca\7  and  the  sun 
fitful,  as  though  a  storm  impended.  The  distant 
elms  were  heavy  green.  There  was  a  great  still- 
ness and  calm. 

We  talked  about  the  meeting,  and  of  the 
magnetism  of  a  crowd.  He  noticed  my  sup- 
pressed excitement,  for  I  had  blood  to  the  head. 
If  we  had  been  rushed  to  the  platform  I  could 
have  spoken  to  the  people,  I'm  sure  I  could.  He 
said  he  had  been  terribly  moved  to  speak,  and  it 
had  been  a  great  effort  to  hold  back. 

We  talked  and  talked,  and  then  some  rain- 
drops forced  us  to  get  up  and  return  to  the  Mitre 
Hotel  for  dinner.  After  dinner  the  weather 
cleared  and  we  had  a  lovely  hour  and  a  half  in  a 
boat  on  the  river.  There  was  a  three-quarter 
moon,  and  the  water  reflected  the  pink  lights  from 
the  Chinese  lanterns  of  the  houseboats.  From 
the   garden   of   Hampton   Court   rose   up   what 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY        31 

seemed  to  be  a  giant  cypress  tree  silhouetted 
against  the  dusk,  and  the  reflection  of  it  doubled 
its  height.  It  was  like  something  in  Italy.  I 
rowed  the  boat,  which  I  loved  doing,  and 
Kamenev  hummed  Volga  boatman  songs.  Or  else 
we  broke  back  into  discussions,  and  then  he  for- 
got he  was  steering  and  we  had  several  slight 
collisions  and  narrow  escapes  from  more  serious 
onesl 

It  was  a  very  successful  evening,  and  we  came 
back  by  the  last  train  to  Waterloo,  still  talking, 
chiefly  about  that  impending  and  all  absorbing 
visit  to  Moscow,  and  we  parted  on  my  doorstep 
at  a  quarter  to  midnight. 


August  24TH,  1920.    Tuesday. 

I  felt  ill,  but  got  up  early,  expecting  Krassin 
at  10,  but  at  10  I  got  a  telephone  message  to  the 
effect  that  neither  Mr.  Krassin  nor  Mr.  Kamenev 
could  see  me  to-day  as  the  political  crisis  had 
caused  a  deluge  of  work. 

Lloyd  George  at  Lucerne  had  taken  exception 
to  the  clause  in  the  Russian  Peace  Terms,  de- 
manding that  the  Polish  Civic  Militia  should  be 
drawn  from  the  working  classes.  This  they  say 
is  an  infringement  of  the  liberty  of  Poland.  Truth 
to  tell,  it's  the  Polish  success  over  the  Red  Army 


32  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

that  has  caused  this  diplomatic  volte  face.  How- 
ever, this  is  too  big  a  subject  to  go  into  here. 

At  dinner  time  Kamenev  telephoned  me  it  was 
his  first  breathing  space,  and  could  he  come  and 
see  me.  I  asked  him  to  take  pot-luck  for  dinner, 
and  he  arrived,  a  battered  and  worn  fighting  man. 
Full  of  indignation,  but  still  full  of  fight  and  hope 
and  belief. 

He  stayed  till  ii,  and  said  he  felt  better.  It 
was  very  still  here,  and  the  peace  did  him  good. 
There  may  be  a  "state  of  war"  in  a  few  days, 
and  as  things  now  stand  they  all  depart  on  Fri- 
day.    Great  excitement,  as  I  shall  go  with  them. 


August  25TH,  1920.  Wednesday. 
Krassin  gave  me  my  second  sitting  at  5  P.  M. 
and  stayed  till  7  :30.  I  heard  all  the  latest  news. 
He's  a  delightful  man,  and  I've  never  done  a  head 
I  admired  more.  He  seems  to  be  strong  morally, 
to  a  degree  of  adamant.  He  is  calm,  sincere,  dig- 
nified, proud,  with  self-consciousness  and  without 
vanity.  Scientific  in  his  analysis  of  things  and 
people.  Eyes  that  are  unflinching  and  bewllder- 
Ingly  direct,  nostrils  that  dilate  with  sensitiveness, 
a  mouth  that  looks  hard  until  It  smiles,  and  a  chin 
full  of  determination. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY        33 

August  26th,  1920.    Thursday. 

Krassin  offered  me  a  third  sitting  and  came 
again  at  5  and  stayed  till  after  7.  War  is 
averted,  and  he  assures  me  that  Kamenev  under 
no  excuse  can  possibly  leave  for  Russia  before  a 
fortnight.  I  did  not  sleep  much,  waking  up  with 
the  exclamation,  "Partonsf  Partonsf",  for  if  we 
don't  get  away  before  a  fortnight  I  shall  have  to 
keep  my  engagement  to  go  on  September  loth  to 
Oxford  to  the  Birkenheads  to  do  F.  E.  and  then  I 
shall  not  get  to  Russia  before  my  exhibition. 

I  worked  hard,  and  Krassin's  head  is  finished. 
I  think  it's  good.  Sidney  came  to  see  me  after 
dinner,  and  we  talked  fantastically  about  Russia, 
and  what  it  might  or  might  not  lead  to  I  He  is 
terribly  interested. 


August  27TH,  1920.    Friday. 

Kamenev  came  at  eleven  to  give  me  a  last  sit- 
ting. He  was  in  a  much  happier  frame  of  mind, 
chuckling  over  Tchitcherin's  reply  to  Lloyd 
George,  which  is  an  impudent  bit  of  propaganda 
work,  and  ALL  the  papers  have  to  publish  it  be- 
cause it  is  official ! 

I  waked  up  this  morning  with  an  excited  and 
tired  feeling,  my  hands  trembling,  which  I've  never 
known  before.  Kamenev  arrived  in  much  the 
same  condition.     He  talked  politics,  and  got  ex- 


34  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

cited  and  worked  up  and  produced  the  quizzical 
frown  that  I  wanted.  I  worked  well,  and  abso- 
lutely changed  the  whole  personahty  of  his  bust, 
which  I  think  he  liked. 

He  promised  incidentally  not  to  wait  here  two 
weeks,  but  says  he  will  start  not  later  than 
next  Friday.     I  wonder  if  he  keeps  his  promises. 

*Peter  turned  up  with  a  girl,  which  disturbed 
the  sitting  and  I  felt  more  and  more  hectic,  what 
with  the  difficulties  and  the  battle  of  it,  and  know- 
ing that  it  was  the  last  sitting,  and  feeling  dead 
beat,  and  having  finally  to  stop  for  lunch. 

Kamenev  and  I  lunched  with  Sidney  Cooke  at 
Claridge's.  I  introduced  them  to  each  other,  and 
we  are  going  to  stay  with  Sidney  at  his  house  in 
the  Isle  of  Wight,  for  the  week-end.  Like  all 
good  foreigners  Kamenev  expressed  a  desire, 
some  days  ago,  to  see  the  Isle  of  Wight.  So  it  is 
arranged.  I  had  meant  to  go  to  my  beloved 
Dick,**  but  I  sent  him  a  crocodile  by  Peter,  to 
compensate. 

Dined  with  Aunt  Jennie;***  she  has  laryngitis, 
and  looked  very  ill.  We  dined  in  the  drawing- 
room.  She  asked  me  what  new  work  I  was  en- 
gaged on,  but  I  took  good  care  not  to  mention 
Russians  nor  Russia. 

*  Oswald  Frewen,  my  brother. 

**  My  son,  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan.     Born  September  20th, 
1915. 
«**Lady  Randolph  Churchill. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY        35 

In  the  course  of  conversation  she  told  me  I  was 
being  criticized  as  having  too  much  freedom.  I 
chuckled  ov^er  this  as  I  visualized  to  myself  the 
great  band  of  people  who  grudge  me  that  freedom, 
because  they  have  not  got  it,  and  because  they 
know  that  freedom  counts  above  everything, 

I  said  to  Aunt  Jennie,  "And  how  is  that  grave 
condition  of  things,  that  dangerous  'Liberty'  going 
to  be  rectified?  I  am  a  widow  and  earning  my 
living,  how  is  it  to  be  otherwise  ordered?" 

She  had  no  suggestion.  It  would  have  been 
obviously  out  of  place  to  suggest  re-marriage, 
which  in  fact  is  the  only  way  of  ending  everything, 
liberty,  work,  my  happiness,  which  is  dependent 
on  my  work. 

August  28th,  1920.     Saturday. 

I  left  the  studio  in  a  state  of  chaos,  Smith  being 
in  the  midst  of  casting  Kamenev  and  Krassin.  I 
felt  a  wonderful  sensation  of  relief,  at  these  being 
finished,  and  the  Victory  also.  Everything  for 
the  moment  is  finished,  until  I  begin  something 
new.     And  who  will  that  be  I  wonder? 

Kamenev  picked  me  up  at  12:15  "^^^  we  caught 
a  12.50  from  Waterloo  to  Portsmouth.  Sidney* 
met  us  at  the  Harbor,  and  escorted  us  to  his 
house  on  the  Isle  of  Wight,  near  Newport.     A 

♦Sidney   Russel    Cooke.      (Former   Secretary   to    Hon.    H.    H. 
Asquith.) 


36  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

very  attractive  journey  across,  as  it  was  warm  and 
calm  weather.  A  motor  met  us  at  Ryde  and  took 
us  to  his  house,  seven  miles.  On  arrival  we  flung 
ourselves  down  in  the  sun  on  the  grass  of  the 
tennis-court.  And  after  tea,  as  we  lay  full  length 
on  rugs,  our  heads  leaning  on  the  grassy  bank, 
behind  us,  and  the  sun  gradually  sinking  lower  and 
lower,  Kamenev  for  over  an  hour  told  us  the 
history  of  the  Russian  Revolution. 

He  told  it  to  us  haltingly,  stumbling  along  in 
his  bad  French,  wrestling  with  words  and  phrases, 
but  always  conveying  his  meaning  and,  above  all, 
conjuring  up  the  most  graphic  pictures, — making 
us  see  with  his  eyes,  live  over  the  days  with  him, 
and  know  all  the  people  concerned.  He  is  amaz- 
ingly forceful  and  eloquent. 

We  sat  silent  and  spell-bound.  He  began  as 
far  back  as  twenty  years  ago,  with  the  first  efforts 
of  himself  and  Lenin,  Trotsky  and  Krassin.  He 
described  thelir  secret  organizations,  their  dis- 
coveries, their  arrests,  his  months  and  years  of 
prison,  first  in  cells,  then  in  Siberia — but  long  be- 
fore he  had  finished,  our  dinner  was  proclaimed, 
and  we  went  in  just  as  we  were  to  eat.  The  spell 
for  the  moment  was  broken,  and  though  he  did 
not  again  that  evening  resume  the  tale  of  the 
Revolution,  he  did  most  of  the  evening's  talking. 

He  described  to  us  shortly  but  vividly  the  in- 
dividuality and  psychology  of  Lenin.    There  were 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         37 

others  also,  the  president  of  the  extraordinary 
Commission,  a  man  turned  to  stone  through  years 
of  "traveaux  force,"  an  ascetic  and  a  fanatic, 
whom  the  Soviet  selected  as  organizer  and  head 
of  "La  Terreur." 

This  is  the  man  of  whom  Maxim  Gorky  wrote 
"that  one  could  see  martyrdom  crystallized  in  his 
eyes."  He  performs  his  arduous  task,  suffering 
over  it,  but  with  the  conviction  that  he  is  helping 
towards  an  ultimate  reign  of  peace  and  calm,  to- 
wards which  end  every  means  is  justified.  This 
man  sleeps  in  a  narrow  bed  behind  a  curtain  in  his 
"bureau"  and  has  few  friends,  and  cares  for  no 
women,  but  he  is  kind  to  children,  and  considerate 
towards  his  fellow-workers  when  they  are  over- 
worked or  ill. 

It  is  useless  to  try  to  tell  any  of  Kamenev's 
stories,  they  require  his  individuality,  and  would 
lose  in  repeating.  I  only  felt  that  it  was  a  great 
waste  that  his  audience  consisted  only  of  us  two, 
when  so  many  might  have  been  enthralled. 


August  29TH,  1920.    Sunday. 

When  I  came  down  from  breakfast  I  found  the 

two  men  sitting  over  a  fire.     I  accused  them  of 

"frousting,"  and  carried  them  out  to  the  garden, 

and   Kamenev  restarted  his  unconcluded  tale  of 


38  MAYFATR  TO  MOSCOW 

the  Revolution,  until  we  could  bear  the  cold  no 
more,  so  he  finished  indoors  in  front  of  the  fire. 
It  is  a  marvelous  narrative,  pray  God,  I  may  never 
forget  it. 

At  2 :30,  the  afternoon  having  mended,  we 
started  off  in  an  open  car  for  the  south  of  the 
Island.  On  a  hill  overlooking  the  sea,  with  a 
lonely  beach,  we  stopped,  and  made  a  long  ardu- 
ous descent.  It  was  heavenly  on  the  undulating 
beach  of  tiny  rounded  pebbles,  by  the  sea  edge. 
Sidney  and  I  paddled  and  Kamenev,  who  watched 
us,  became  thoroughly  laughing  and  happy.  When 
Sidney  and  I  sat  down  on  the  beach  and  buried 
our  feet  in  the  pebbles,  Kamenev  began  to  write 
verses  to  me  on  the  back  of  a  five  pound  note. 

I  don't  know  what  happened  to  the  bank  note, 
but  Kamenev  wrote  four  lines,  and  Sidney  the 
other  four,  in  French.  Kamenev  likened  me  to 
Venus,  but  Sidney  was  flippant,  and  said  that  the 
part  of  me  he  liked  best  was  my  feet! 

The  scenery  and  climb  recalled  Capri,  but  a 
faded  Capri  without  color.  Nevertheless,  one  re- 
membered the  feeling  of  joy  one  had  at  Capri,  and 
Kamenev  was  much  impressed  by  the  beauty  and 
the  peace  of  it,  and  said  how  distant  politics 
seemed,  and  how  non-existent  Mr.  Lloyd 
George ! ! ! 

After  awhile,  we  regretfully  went  on,  stopping 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         39 

only  for  a  tea-picnic  on  a  common  off  a  lonely 
road. 


September  2nd,  1920.     Thursday. 

Brede  Place. 

I  have  been  here  since  Monday.  Papa  is  away 
in  Ireland  fishing,  Mamma  is  here  and  believes  I 
am  still  going  yachting  and  that  a  telegram  will 
call  me  away  at  any  minute.  As  no  wire  has 
come,  and  I  cannot  bear  the  suspense,  I've  decided 
to  go  up  to  London,  for  the  day,  and  shall  go 
straight  to  Kamenev's  office  from  the  station.  So 
I'll  know  soon  whether  we  start  for  Russia  on 
Saturday  or  not.  If  we  do  I  shall  not  come  back 
here. 

I  wonder  what  it  will  be.  To-night,  when  I 
said  good-night  to  Dick  he  clung  to  me  more  than 
usual,  and  we  talked  together  for  a  long  time. 
He  held  mc  tight.  I  was  kneeling  on  the  ground 
next  his  bed,  with  my  arms  round  him.  He  said 
he  could  not  bear  to  let  me  go.  He  said  he  would 
tie  mc  up  to  a  wall  and  cover  me  with  kisses,  and 
not  let  me  go  to-morrow.  He  was  terribly  sweet, 
and  I  felt  a  great  reluctance  at  leaving  him. 

Should  anything  happen  to  me  if  I  go  on  this 
expedition  I  want  Peter  (Oswald,  my  brother), 
to  take  great  care  of  Dick.  I  don't  know  what 
money  there  would  be  to  help  him,  but  some  of 


40  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

my  widow's  pension  would  be  paid  to  the  chil- 
dren from  the  Government. 

I  would  like  Aunt  Leonie,*  whom  I  love  dearly, 
and  whose  judgment  I  value,  to  lend  Peter  a  hand, 
for  Mamma  is  not  strong  enough  to  take  it  on. 
Also,  darling  though  she  is,  we  are  so  opposite 
in  our  views  of  life  and  the  future. 

I  want  Dick  to  be  very  modern,  very  Liberal. 
I  want  him  to  have  a  chance  of  being  fully  what- 
ever he  thinks  is  right,  even  if  it  does  not  agree 
with  those  who  surround  him.  So  long  as  he  is 
sincere,  and  convinced  he  is  right,  then  he  is 
right. 

St.  John  and  Madeleine  Middleton  will,  I  know, 
ask  him  to  Peper  Harrow.  The  Sheridan  family 
are  not  likely  to  start  interesting  themselves  in 
Dick,  as  they  have  not  done  so  up  to  the  present. 
The  Wavertrees,  however,  have  begun  to  love 
Margaret,  and  are  looking  after  her  and  she  is 
happy.  I  suppose  if  anything  happens  to  me  she 
will  be  permanently  with  them.  I  am  grateful 
to  Sophie  and  thankful.  I  think  all  is  well  with 
Margaret,  and  her  problem  is  far  more  easily  set- 
tled than  Dick's. 

But  I  do  wish  she  could  be  brought  up  to  be 
purposeful,  not  luxurious,  and  to  feel  that  she  will 


*  Lady  Leslie.  Wife  of  St.  John  Leslie,  formerly  Miss 
Leonie  Jerome  and  sister  of  Lady  Randolph  Churchill  and  Mrs, 
Morton  Frewen,  Mrs.  Sheridan's  mother. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         41 

have  a  career.  Work  alone  brings  happiness,  and 
the  desire  to  achieve  or  to  attain  is  the  only  satis- 
faction. 

However,  if  I  am  no  more,  they  may  be  brought 
up  very  differently  from  my  plans,  but  they  will 
undoubtedly  develop  into  something  because  they 
have  individuality.  But  it  is  all  in  the  hands  of 
the  gods. 

To  Peter  I  leave  the  remains  of  my  seven  years' 
lease  of  the  studio.  My  jewels  to  Margaret,  ex- 
cept a  ruby  and  diamond  ring  which  is  already 
Peter's.  My  books  to  Dick,  also  my  diaries  and 
letters. 

I  have  not  much  to  leave,  my  philosophy  of  life 
is  to  travel  light  and  not  accumulate,  but  to 
throw  off. 

I  think  the  money  I  have  in  the  bank  and  the 
money  I  am  owed  should  pay  my  debts. 

I  don't  care  what  happens  to  my  work.  I've 
worked  hard  and  done  my  best.  I  hoped  to  make 
a  name  for  myself.  I  am  ambitious  to  do  good 
work.  It's  a  very,  very  long  road  to  climb,  and 
I'd  like  to  get  further  along  it — but  this  is  a 
great  adventure  and  worth  doing — and  I'm  rather 
tired  of  the  great  uncertainty  of  the  future,  and 
so,  if  it  all  ends  so  soon  it  ends  well.  I've  had 
four  years  of  glorious  happy  work,  and  I  leave 
two  beautiful  children  to  be  my  immortality. 

To  these  I  say:  "Work,  Work,  always  Work." 


42  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

Don't  turn  your  backs  on  the  World's  new  doc- 
trines, not  even  if  you  have  something  to  lose.  If 
you  have  something  to  lose,  lose  it  in  the  cause. 
Fight  for  the  cause,  if  you  believe  it  to  be  right. 
Remember  the  millions  whose  lives  are  not  worth 
living  and  who  7nust  be  helped. 

Children,  I  love  you — God  bless  you. 

May  this  stand  as  a  sort  of  will  in  case  any- 
thing happens  to  me. 

Written  at  Brede  Place,  August  23rd,  1920. 

September  3RD,  1920.  Friday. 
I  went  up  to  London  and  drove  straight  to  the 
Bolshevik  office  in  Bond  Street,  and  left  my  lug- 
gage waiting  outside  in  the  taxi.  Unlike  the  pre- 
vious occasion,  I  was  not  shown  straight  in  to 
Kamenev.  I  sat  down  and  waited  in  the  outer 
room  which  was  full  of  men,  six  or  seven  of  them, 
and  they  began  discussing  me  in  Italian,  French, 
German,  and  Russian!  I  tried  to  look  dignified 
and  aloof,  and  I'm  sure  I  was  a  great  failure  as  a 
Bolshevik.  All  my  English  conventional  breeding 
took  hold  of  me!  Later  Peter  came  to  fetch 
me,  thinking  I  had  finished  my  interview,  and 
then  I  felt  better,  having  him  to  talk  to.  Later 
an  eighth  man  appeared  with  a  lot  of  papers  and 
the  garrulous  crowd  became  of  a  sudden  serious, 
and  sat  round  a  table,  and  there  seemed  to  be 
a  sort  of  council  going  on. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         43 

At  this  moment  Klyschko  passed  by  the  open 
door,  and  espying  me  called  me  and  Peter  into 
him  room  to  wait.  I  asked  him  why  there  were 
so  many  people  in  the  other  room,  and  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

At  last  I  was  told  both  Mr.  Kamenev  and  Mr. 
Krassin  wanted  to  see  me,  and  I  was  shown  into 
Krassin's  office.  I  learnt  in  a  moment  what  I  had 
feared,  that  our  journey  is  not  for  to-morrow. 
Moscow  has  answered  his  application  too  late. 
There  was  just  a  faint  chance  left,  for  a  telegram 
from  Moscow  was  being  deciphered  at  that  mo- 
ment, but  it  was  almost  too  slight  to  count  upon. 

Krassin  asked  if  he  might  bring  his  wife  and 
daughters  to  the  studio  at  4  o'clock,  and  then 
Kamenev  took  me  up  to  his  office.  He  held  out 
real  hopes  of  starting  next  week.  There  is  just  a 
good  chance. 

As  soon  as  Krassin  and  his  very  attractive  fam- 
ily, but  slightly  alarming  wife,  had  left  I  went  to 

see ,  whom  I  thought  was  In  a  position  to 

get  the  vise  I  want,  for  Reval.  My  passport  is 
all  in  order  to  Stockholm  but  Klyschko  has  failed 
to  get  the  Esthonian  vise  because  it  is  necessary  to 
get  the  Foreign  Office  approval  to  do  so. 

After   three-quarters   of   an   hour's    talk    with 

,    T    realized   that   it   was   hopeless.      He 

merely  shared  the  general  prejudice.  It  confirms 
me  in  my  decision  not  to  take  any  one  else  into 


44  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

my  confidence,  besides  Sidney  and  S 


They  are  the  only  two  who  have  got  the  spirit 
to  understand. 

But  how  I  want  that  Esthonian  vise — it  is 
worth  an  effort  to  get  it,  instead  of  starting  with 
an  uncertainty. 

explained  to  me  at  length,  and  kindly, 

why  he  did  not  want  me  to  go.  He  said  that  he 
believed  a  complete  change  of  Government  policy 
was  impending,  which  would  make  my  position  in 
Russia  untenable.  Moreover,  that  I  would  be  in 
great  danger  of  being  shot  as  a  spy.  He  told  me 
what  he  thought  of  Lenin  and  Trotsky  (it  seemed 
very  much  what  other  people  think).  He  said 
that  Kamenev  was  no  better  than  the  rest,  and 
that  a  Russian  was  capable  of  turning  even  upon 
a  friend.  Finally  he  asked  me  why  I  wanted  to 
go.  I  claimed  an  artist's  zeal  in  wishing  to  do 
Lenin  and  bring  his  head  back  in  my  arms! 

He  then  wanted  to  know  why  "they"  wanted 
to  take  me,  to  which  I  could  give  no  clear  answer, 
having  wondered  somewhat  myself.  He  then 
tried  to  draw  me  on  the  subject  of  Bolshevism 
and  asked  me:  "What  do  you  gather  is  the  final 
and  ultimate  object  of  the  Bolsheviks?" 

It  was  a  difl'icult  question.  I  thought  for  a 
moment  and  then  I  said:  "They  are  very  great 
idealists,  it  may  be  an  unpractical  and  unworkable 
Idealism,  but  that  does  not  alter  it." 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         45 

He  was  unsurprised  at  this,  and  said  in  a  low 
voice,  almost  more  to  himself  than  to  me:  "Are 
they  as  clever  as  that — "  by  which  I  suppose  he 
meant,  had  they  really  been  so  clever  as  to  take 
me  in! ! ! 

At  the  end  of  it  all  I  said  to  him:  "You  see 
in  the  papers  that  H.  G.  Wells  is  going  to 
Russia?" 

He  said  that  Wells  could  look  after  himself. 
I  claimed  to  be  equally  fit  to  do  so,  to  which  he 
replied:     "So  you  still  want  to  go?" 

I  explained  that  I  was  prepared  for  anything. 
He  seemed  surprised  but  practically  consented  to 
try  and  get  my  passport  put  in  order  for  me,  and 
asked  me  to  go  and  see  him  again  next  week. 

I  got  back  in  time  to  dine  with  Kamenev  at 
"Canuto's."  After  dinner,  it  being  a  lovely  warm 
evening,  we  took  an  open  taxi  and  I  suggested 
driving  to  Hampstead  Heath.  Arrived  there,  we 
left  the  taxi  on  the  main  road,  while  we  went  on 
foot  off  a  side  road  on  to  a  rough  sandy  track, 
quite  away  from  people  and  lights. 

On  a  bank  I  spread  my  white  fur  coat  and  we 
sat  there  for  an  hour  or  more.  It  was  very  beau- 
tiful. The  tall  pine  stems  stood  out  against  the 
glowing  sky  of  distant,  flaring  London.  The 
place  was  full  of  depth  and  distance  and  night 
mystery.  I  talked  to  Kamenev  about  my  con- 
versation with  a  friend,  who  was  a  serious  intelli- 


46  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

gent  man,  and  told  him  of  his  opinion  that  I 
should  be  in  danger  of  my  life.  I  added  I  was 
prepared  to  take  the  risk,  but  that  I  should  regret 
my  children  being  orphans.  Kamenev  answered 
me  half  amused,  half  irritated. 

He  said  it  was  such  nonsense  that  he  feli  a 
great  desire  to  start  immediately  so  as  to  show 
me  the  truth,  and  so  that  I  might  come  back  and 
prove  to  all  and  sundry  how  ignorant  they  are  of 
real  conditions. 

He  considered  that  no  matter  what  line  the 
Government  adopted  here  (and  he  was  prepared 
that  Lloyd  George  might  do  anything  at  any  mo- 
ment) ,  it  would  not  be  vented  upon  me.  I  should 
be  regarded  purely  as  an  artist  and  international 
non-political. 

Then  laughing,  he  said  he  would  have  me  put 
against  a  wall,  arms  crossed  on  breast  (not  blind- 
folded, that  was  a  convention  of  the  aristocrats!), 
and  a  firing  party  should  take  aim,  and  he  would 
save  me  at  the  last  moment.  Just  so  that  I  might 
live  through  every  thrill,  and  my  friends  be  dis- 
appointed! 

He  told  me  incidentally  that  Wrangel  is  de- 
feated and  discredited  (•  •  .  having  just  told  me 
that  Wrangel  had  won  the  peasants  over  to  him, 
and  that  he  had  a  scheme  of  moderate  Govern- 
ment, and  was  likely  to  rouse  a  counter-revolution 
and  depose  the  present  lot). 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         47 

So  I  said  to  Kamenev:     "Where  is  truth?" 
And  he  answered:     "There  is  no  truth  in  the 
world,  the  only  truth  Is  in  one's  heart." 

September  9TH,  1920.     Thursday. 

My  birthday,  and  the  most  hectic  of  my  life! 

In  the  morning  I  worked  more  or  less  calmly. 
The  "Victory"  was  just  being  finished,  Smith  was 
chipping  away  the  last  remains  of  mold.  Riga- 
monte,  under  my  direction,  was  punching  the 
blocks  of  Princess  Pat,  so  that  marble  chips  flew 
like  shrapnel  in  all  directions.  Meanwhile  Hart 
came  to  get  my  last  orders  about  marble  pedestals 
for  unfinished  bronzes,  and  on  top  of  all  Fiorinl 
turned  up. 

He  was  terribly  hurt  because  I  have  given  the 
heads  of  Kamenev  and  Krassin  to  ParlantI  to  cast. 
He  had  dreamed  of  doing  them — he  had  a  Bol- 
shevik workman  In  his  foundry,  who  asked  every 
day  when  those  heads  were  coming.  He  would 
have  cast  them,  he  said,  for  nothing,  just  for  the 
honor  and  glory  of  doing  them.  ...  I  felt  ter- 
ribly badly  about  It.  The  little  Italian  man  is 
such  an  enthusiast,  and  he  met  Kamenev  here, 
who  shook  hands  with  him,  and  Fiorlnl  felt  about 
it  as  most  people  about  their  King.  On  that  oc- 
casion he  hid  behind  a  pedestal,  and  remained  so 
quiet  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  watching  me  and 
my  sitter,  that  I  forgot  he  was  there. 


48  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

But  because  I  understood  from  Fiorini  that  he 
had  as  much  work  as  he  could  get  through  for  me 
in  time  for  my  exhibition,  I  had  given  the  heads 
to  Parlanti,  who  promised  them  in  time. 

I  hope  I  comforted  him  by  promising  to  give 
him  the  duplicates  to  cast,  as  presents  to  Kamenev 
and  Krassin,  the  which  I  had  had  no  intention  of 
doing,  and  can  ill  afford,  but  to  cheer  up  Fiorini  I 
will  do  it. 

Then  the  telephone  went  and  Klyschko  an- 
nounced to  me  that  it  was  all  decided — Kamenev 
is  starting  on  Saturday  morning,  has  reserved 
places  and  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  get  my  ticket. 
I  said  I  was  having  difficulties  over  my  passport, 
and  he  explained  to  me  that  all  I  need  get  is  the 
vise  via  Christiania  to  Stockholm,  and  that  at 
Stockholm  the  Esthonian  Legation  would  see  me 
through. 

I  dined  with  Sophie  Wavertree  and  F.  M.  B. 
Fisher.  He  walked  me  home.  He  it  is  who  orig- 
inally brought  me  In  touch  with  this  wonderful 
new  world. 

September  ioth,  1920.    Friday. 

Kamenev  telephoned  at  breakfast.  He  is 
really  starting  to-morrow. 

At  10:15  a  wire  from  Sidney,  to  say  he's  ar- 
riving from  Scotland  at  5  :oo. 

II  :30  to  Barclay's  Bank,  cashed  £100. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DLVRY         49 

II 140  to  Cook's,  bought  my  ticket. 

12:00  Bond  Street  Office,  saw  Kamenev.  He 
says  it  doesn't  matter  about  a  passport,  that  he 
can  push  me  through  from  Stockholm. 

1  o'clock,  bought  a  hat  in  South  Molton  Street. 

2  o'clock,  back  at  studio.  Wrote  letters  all 
afternoon. 

4:30  hair  washed  and  cut. 

7  :oo  back  to  studio,  packed  and  dined. 

10:30  Sidney  came,  and  while  we  were  talking 
Kamenev  rang  up  to  say  he  had  had  a  few  short 
hours  ago  an  interview  with  Lloyd  George,  and 
that  he  gathered  from  the  interview  that  he,  Kam- 
enev, leaves  to-morrow,  not  to  return — this  was 
pour  me  prevenlr — but  he  said,  come  all  the  same. 

I  rang  up  S L ,  who  could  hardly  be- 
lieve that  I  am  really  starting.  He  came  round  to 
see  me  and  we  three  talked  far  into  the  night. 


September  iith,  1920.    Saturday. 

Mr.  Krassin,  and  most  of  the  128  New  Bond 
Street  staff  were  at  St.  Pancras  to  see  us  start. 
Krassin  presented  me  with  a  big  box  of  chocolates 
tied  up  with  red  ribbons.  We  were  rather  a  con- 
spicuous group  on  the  platform.  I  feared  every 
second  to  meet  some  one  I  knew  traveling,  possibly 
to  York,  on  the  same  train. 

S L was  there  to  wish  me  God-speed, 


50  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

and  Sidney,  who  is  staying  with  friends  near  New- 
castle and  came  down  yesterday  to  spend  my  last 
evening  with  me,  traveled  back  to  Newcastle  with 
us.  Rigamonte  turned  up  unexpectedly,  which 
touched  me  very  much. 

Sidney,  fulfilling  his  reputation  as  an  organizer, 
discovered  there  were  two  trains  going  to  New- 
castle, and  that  the  next  one  starting  a  little  later 
had  a  restaurant  car,  so  we  transferred  our  lug- 
gage from  the  one  to  the  other,  and  in  the  process 
I  lost  my  handbag  which  had  my  hundred  pounds 
in  it  in  bank  notes,  all  I  possessed  in  the  world! 
It  caused  me  some  agitation,  but  Kamenev  was 
quite  calm  and  seemed  to  think  that  money  was 
not  very  important,  and  that  I  should  not  have 
much  need  of  it  in  Russia. 

To  my  intense  relief,  however,  Sidney  found 
the  case  at  Newcastle  in  the  lost  property  office. 
It  traveled  ahead  of  us  on  the  other  train. 

Sidney  came  to  the  ship  with  us.  I  don't  think 
he  believed  in  the  reality  of  my  journey  until  he 
saw  me  safely  past  the  passport  officials ! 

I  certainly  felt  no  sense  of  security  until  the 
steamer  left  the  quay-side.  There  was  something 
indescribably  exciting  and  clandestine  about  slip- 
ping away  without  any  one  knowing. 

For  some  time  Kamenev  and  I  stood  on  deck  to 
see  the  last  of  England,  with  her  Turner  sky. 
The  sunset  was  golden  haze,  and  Kamenev  said: 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         51 

"It  looks  mysterious,  that  land,  doesn't  it?"  But 
to  me  it  was  just  the  old  world  wrapt  in  a  shroud. 
Mystery  lay  ahead  of  us  in  the  new  world  that  is 
our  destination. 

Now  for  the  first  time  I  have  leisure  and  calm 
in  which  to  think  over  what  I  am  doing.  There 
persist  in  my  mind  faint  echoes  of  warnings,  but 
I  must  have  no  misgivings.  It  seems  to  me  un- 
likely that  Kamenev  would  invite  me  to  go  to  his 
country  if  I  were  likely  to  be  either  unhappy  or  in 
danger  there.  There  are  moments  in  life  when  it 
is  necessary  to  have  blind  faith. 


September  i2TH,  Sunday.    In  my  cabin  on 

board  S.  S.  Jupiter. 

It  is  9  :45  p.  M.  We  have  just  this  moment  come 
alongside  the  quay-side  at  Bergen.  We  are  not  to 
land  till  to-morrow  morning.  The  crossing  has 
been  wonderful,  as  calm  as  a  lake  the  whole  way. 

I  have  a  cabin  for  three  all  to  myself;  there  are 
very  few  people  on  board.  It  is  comfortable  as  a 
yacht.  The  only  fellow  traveler  we  have  spoken 
with  is  an  American  calling  himself  Comrad  Cos- 
tello.  He  reports  for  the  Federated  Press  (new 
service  for  the  Socialist  Press).  A  perfectly  keen 
journalist,  typically  American,  and  not  letting  the 
grass  grow  under  his  feet. 

For  an  hour  this  afternoon   I   did  interpreter 


52  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

between  him  and  Kamenev.  I  had  to  ask  about 
strange  people  and  strange  things  that  I  knew 
nothing  about.  I  had  not  even  heard  of  Debs 
before. 

I  expect  I  shall  have  a  pretty  good  knowledge 
of  all  the  Revolutionary  Leaders  in  all  countries 
before  long. 

Kamenev  had  a  cigarette  in  my  cabin  this  eve- 
ning, and  we  discussed  Philosophy,  Religion,  and 
Revolution.  It  surprised  me  very  much  that  he 
does  not  believe  in  God.  He  says  that  the  idea 
of  God  is  a  domination  and  that  he  resents  it,  as 
he  resents  all  other  dominations.  He  talked  nev- 
ertheless with  great  admiration  of  the  teachings 
of  Christ,  who  demanded  poverty  and  equality 
among  men,  and  who  said  that  the  rich  man  had 
no  more  chance  of  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  than  a 
camel  of  getting  through  a  needle's  eye. 


September  13TH,  Grand  Hotel,  Christiania. 

Monday. 

To-day  might  have  been  many  days,  and  we 
might  have  been  crossing  the  world. 

The  train  left  Bergen  at  8:15  A.  M.  We  had  a 
compartment  to  ourselves  with  big  windows. 

Slowly  from  Voss  the  train  climbed  higher  and 
higher.  The  higher  we  went  the  less  vegetation 
there  was.      Big  trees  became  smaller  trees,  and 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         si> 

then  dwarf  trees  and  then  shrub,  until  finally  there 
was  only  the  little  low  creeper  juniper. 

There  were  rocks  and  boulders,  falling  torrents 
and  cold  still  lakes,  and  in  the  shadow  of  the  moun- 
tains great  patches  of  snow  that  nev^er  melt. 

This  morning  in  the  breakfast  car  we  eagerly 
asked  for  news,  being  unable  to  read  Norwegian. 
The  man  who  was  reading  the  paper  Informed  us 
in  broken  English  that  the  coal  strike  was  exactly 
the  same,  and  the  Lord  Mayor  of  Cork  not  dead 
yet.     With  that  summary  we  had  to  rest  content. 

Later  In  the  morning  the  dining-car  attendant 
sought  us  out,  and  armed  with  a  newspaper  said: 
"Have  you  heard  the  news?"  He  then  made  a 
bow  and  asked:  "Mr.  Kamenev — ^yes?"  and 
showed  him  a  photograph  of  Kamenev  In  the 
morning's  paper,  and  the  information  that  he  had 
left  England  and  was  on  his  way  to  Russia.  That 
settled  it.  Kamenev  was  recognized  and  the  car 
attendant  spread  the  Information.  After  that 
whenever  we  walked  the  platform  of  a  station  we 
were  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes. 

At  luncheon  Kamenev  asked  the  car  attendant, 
who  spoke  Russian  so  well,  where  he  had  learnt 
it.  The  answer  was  that  fifteen  years  ago  he  had 
spent  two  years  as  a  waiter  In  Petrograd.  Kam- 
enev told  him  that  Russia  was  a  good  deal  changed 
since  then  and  that  he  ought  to  go  and  see  it. 


54  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

The  attendant  with  a  deferential  smile  said  he 
would  be  afraid  to ! 

At  Finse,  the  highest  point,  where  we  were  on  a 
level  with  the  mountain  summits,  and  snow  lay 
around  us  and  below  us,  the  train  stopped  ten 
minutes.  We  got  out  and  walked  about,  I  took 
my  kodak.  Beyond  the  platform  on  the  sloping 
bank,  a  granite  monolith  stood  up  grimly  against 
the  snow-patched  distance,  and  to  my  surprise,  en- 
graved upon  It  were  the  names  of  Captain  Scott 
and  all  his  party,  with  the  date,  and  the  announce- 
ment that  they  had  started  from  Norway  for  the 
South  Pole.  It  was  rather  emotional  finding  it 
so  unexpectedly  and  remote. 

At  lo  p.  M.  we  steamed  into  Christiania,  where 
we  were  met  by  Litvinoff.  I  had  visualized  a 
small  sharp-faced,  alert  man.  Instead  I  found  a 
big,  square,  amiable,  smiling  man.  He  informed 
us  that  there  was  not  a  room  to  be  had  at  the 
Grand  Hotel,  and  turning  to  me  added  in  Eng- 
lish:  "If  you  want  rooms  In  the  Grand  Hotel 
you  will  have  to  secure  them  through  the  British 
Legation."  We  all  laughed,  and  I  said:  "We 
are  not  making  much  use  of  the  British  Legation 
on  this  trip." 

As  we  entered  the  Grand  Hotel  and  stepped 
Into  the  lift  I  caught  the  sound  of  string  band 
music  which  characterizes  the  Grand  Hotels  and 
Ritz-Carltons  of  Europe,   and   suggests   all   that 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         55 

side  of  life  that  we  on  this  trip  are  not  quite  in 
harmony  with.  Litvinoff  accommodated  me  in 
the  room  of  one  of  his  secretaries.  I  felt  rather 
strange,  lonely  and  lost,  especially  when  questioned 
by  one  of  them  as  to  my  work  and  plans. 

Had  I  been  working  in  the  Soviet  office  in  Lon- 
don? I  felt  rather  at  a  disadvantage,  having  to 
explain  that  I  was  merely  an  artist  who  had  done 
portraits  of  Kamenev  and  Krassin  (whom,  by  the 
way,  they  spoke  of  as  Comrad) ,  and  that  I  hoped 
to  get  through  to  Russia,  with  Kamenev,  to  do 
some  portraits  there. 

I  felt,  as  they  looked  at  me,  that  I  did  not  look 
much  like  a  sculptor.  They  proceeded  to  tell  me 
that  no  British  passports  were  being  issued,  and 
that  any  amount  of  people  were  being  held  up 
here.  Very  cheerful!  By  this  time  I  had  drunk 
three  cups  of  excellent  tea  out  of  a  tumbler,  and  it 
was  nearly  midnight  and  I  suggested  bed,  apolo- 
gizing at  the  same  time  for  making  use  of  their 
room  and  necessitating  their  discomfort. 

It  being  now  i  o'clock,  I  propose  to  sleep, 
though  I  am  only  wrapped  in  my  rug,  for  the  bed 
is  not  made  up  for  me  and  I  do  not  like  sleeping 
in  other  people's  sheets!  The  noise  in  the  street 
is  perfectly  infernal  and  Kamenev  and  Litvinoff 
are  still  talking  in  the  next  room  on  my  other 
side. 


S6  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

September  hth,  1920,  Christiania,  Tuesday. 

Slept  very  well  wrapped  in  my  rug.  Woke  up 
at  9  and  had  breakfast  in  bed.  Had  terribly 
looked  forward  to  a  bath  but  the  sour-faced  hotel 
maid  says  there  are  too  many  gentlemen  who  want 
it,  and  so  I  cannot.  This  does  not  seem  an  ade- 
quate reason  for  denying  it  to  me  and  I  rather 
suspect  it  is  part  of  a  general  boycott  of  Bolshe- 
viks. 

While  I  was  breakfasting  Kamenev  looked  in 
with  the  morning  papers  which  have  come  out 
with  headlines  and  photographs  of  him.  One 
described  him  as  having  arrived  "with  a  lady,  tall 
and  elegant,  who  carried  in  one  hand  a  'kodaka- 
parat'  and  in  the  other  a  box  of  sweets — she  does 
not  look  Russian,  and  was  heard  to  speak  French." 

At  luncheon  I  met  Mrs.  Litvinoff  and  was  sur- 
prised to  find  that  she  is  English,  a  friend  of  the 
Meynells  and  of  H.  G.  Wells.  She  has  short 
black  hair  and  is  unconventional.  She  did  not 
seem  to  be  very  political  or  revolutionary.  The 
third  baby  is   imminent. 

After  luncheon  we  made  an  expedition  outside 
Christiania  to  the  wireless  station  which  is  on  the 
top  of  a  wooded  hill  from  which  there  is  a  mag- 
nificent view.  Misha,  the  eldest  child,  a  boy  of 
four  accompanied  us.  He  is  unruly,  wild-eyed,  and 
most  attractive, — the  embodiment  of  Donatello's 
"laughing  boy."    He  says :  "What  for  is  my  father 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         57 

a  Bolshevist?"  and  tells  his  mother  to  ring  the 
bell  for  the  maid  and  not  to  do  any  work  herself. 

Litvinoff  adores  him  and  throws  him  about  and 
makes  him  stand  on  his  head.  Coming  home,  Lit- 
vinoff and  I,  hatless,  ran  races  down  the  hill.  To 
my  great  humiliation  he  outran  me.  He  is  a 
heavy  man  and  I  run  well,  but  he  was  not  even 
out  of  breath ! 

On  the  way  back  in  the  open  car,  they  all  sang 
Russian  folk  songs  in  a  chorus.  Bolsheviki  are 
a  very  cheerful  species! 

We  reached  the  hotel  just  in  time  to  pick  up  our 
luggage  and  catch  the  train  for  Stockholm. 

There  were  real  cordial  good-bys  all  round. 
Litvinoff  said  that  if  I  did  not  get  through  from 
Stockholm  I  must  come  back  to  Christiania  and  he 
would  send  some  one  with  me  to  take  me  through 
Murmansk.  But  Mrs.  Litvinoff  said  I  would  get 
through  all  right.  "Those  sorts  of  people  always 
get  what  they  want,"  she  said,  but  gave  no  further 
comment,  and  I  am  wondering  what  sort  of  per- 
son I  am. 

The  two  secretaries  gave  me  messages  for 
friends  in  Moscow  and  seemed  very  envious  of 
any  one  going  back.  One  of  them  (with  most 
beautiful  chestnut  hair)  held  forth  to  me  on  the 
great  difference  the  Revolution  had  brought  into 
the  position  of  women.  She  is  an  ardent  Com- 
munist and  works  ten  hours  a  day  with  a  willing 


58  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

heart  and  little  pay.  She  added  as  a  last  appeal: 
"Go — and  see  for  yourself,  and  then  say  nice 
things  about  us  when  you  get  back  to  England." 

September  15TH,  1920,  Stockholm. 

Wednesday. 

We  arrived  at  8  130  A.  m.  and  were  met  at  the 
station  by  Frederick  Strom,  head  of  the  left  wing. 
Socialist  party  of  Sweden.  It  was  an  interesting 
contrast  to  my  arrival  in  former  years  when  the 
Crown  Prince  himself  used  to  meet  me  and  take 
me  in  a  royal  car  to  the  Palace.  I  felt  a  great  sad- 
ness as  I  passed  that  old  Palace,  and  the  windows 
of  Princess  Margaret's  rooms  I  knew  so  well. 
The  days  when  I  used  to  stay  there  seemed  very 
long  ago  and  of  another  world. 

We  drove  to  the  Grand  Hotel  which  however 
proved  to  be  full  but  we  were  not  at  a  loss:  we 
drove  off  to  a  perfectly  charming  apartment  be- 
longing to  the  Krassins  but  which  in  their  absence 
is  inhabited  by  a  Comrad  Juon. 

We  were  most  courteously  received  and  given 
a  splendid  breakfast. 

Juon  is  about  six  feet  and  a  half  high,  broad  in 
proportion,  with  a  black  beard  and  a  kindly  ex- 
pression. His  eyes  have  exceptionally  big  pupils 
that  give  a  curious  gleam  and  keenness  to  his  ex- 
pression. His  brother  in  Russia  is  a  well  known 
painter. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         59 

Conversation  between  the  two  was  mostly  in 
Russian.  I  am  beginning  to  cultivate  a  detached 
feeling,  and  I  do  not  expect  to  understand  much 
during  the  next  few  weeks  except  through  my  eyes. 

While  we  were  breakfasting  the  Grand  Hotel 
telephoned  to  place  a  suite  of  rooms  at  our  dis- 
posal. So  we  returned  there,  and  the  Hotel  au- 
thorities were  most  civil. 

P>om  that  moment  there  ensued  hectic  uncalm. 
Series  of  newspaper  reporters  arrived  and  had  to 
be  given  interviews. 

Comrads  came,  and  stayed — there  seemed  to  be 
people  revolving  perpetually.  Some  of  them  un- 
derstood only  German,  others  struggled  in  bad 
English,  yet  others  in  French,  the  whole  thing 
mixed  up  with  Swedish  and  Russian  so  that  one's 
head  reeled. 

Among  all  these  people,  one  figure  stands  out 
more  clearly  than  the  rest.  This  is  Rjasonoff,  a 
man  about  seventy  with  a  Greek  profile,  a  beard 
that  stands  out  defiantly,  and  hawk's  eyes.  He 
has  a  dominating  personality. 

This  man  has  done  five  years  of  solitary  con- 
finement in  a  cell  for  the  cause.  He  was  charm- 
ing to  me,  and  his  expression  lost  some  of  its 
battle,  and  became  kindly  even  when  he  looked 
at  me. 

Another  man  who  stands  out  in  my  mind  is  a 


6o  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

Communist  poet  called  Torre  Norman,  who  has 
translated  Rupert  Brooke. 

Mr.  Strom  accompanied  me  to  the  Esthonian 
Consulate  to  get  my  Reval  vise.  There  were,  as 
I  expected,  endless  difficulties,  and  nothing  settled, 
and  to-morrow  the  boat  leaves  at  4  so  there 
is  not  much  time.  I  feel  pretty  confident  that  all 
will  end  well!  It  is  not  possible  that  there  can 
be  a-ny  other  ending. 

We  were  a  big  party  lunching  in  the  restaurant 
and  attracted  a  good  deal  of  attention.  After 
lunch  we  all  went  to  Skansen  and  had  tea  there. 

In  the  evening  Kamenev  had  to  go  out  and 
keep  an  appointment,  and  while  he  was  out  I 
wrestled  on  the  telephone  with  reporters,  trying 
to  ward  off  interviews  until  the  morrow.  At  10 
p.  M.  Kamenev  came  back  and  we  dined  in  the  sit- 
ting room.  He  was  pretty  dead  beat.  Even  then 
a  reporter  came  to  the  door  and  asked  for  an  in- 
terview, but  I  insisted  he  must  be  put  off  till  the 
next  day,  and  Kamenev,  rather  willingly,  I  think, 
gave  in. 

September  i6th,  1920,  Stockholm. 

Thursday. 

This  morning  I  telephoned  to  the  Palace,  and 

asked  for  the  Crown  Prince.     Kamenev  asked  me 

if  I  were  right  to  risk  it.     He  said  that  I  might 

be  very  ill  received  in  view  of  the  company  I  was 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         6i 

in,  but  I  explained  that  he  was  one  of  the  most 
Democratic  Princes  in  Europe. 

Prince  Gustav's  surprise  was  indeed  pretty 
great.  He  was  enormously  interested  and  amused 
and  asked  me  to  lunch,  and  to  come  at  midday  so 
as  to  get  a  good  talk  first. 

Kamenev  listened  to  our  conversation  with  some 
amusement.  He  told  me  afterwards  that  he  liked 
"the  tone."  I  wonder  whether  he  had  expected 
me  to  be  different. 

I  asked  the  Prince,  as  a  favor,  that  Princess 
Margaret's  maid.  Amy,  might  come  out  shopping 
with  me,  and  she  came  and  fetched  me,  and  was 
a  tremendous  help,  as  she  knew  where  to  take  me, 
and  did  all  the  talking  in  Swedish. 

I  left  her  to  collect  my  parcels,  as  it  was  nearly 
midday,  got  a  taxi  and  told  him  to  drive  to  "The 
Palace."  He  looked  vague,  and  did  not  under- 
stand. I  said:  "Palace!  Kronprinzen."  He 
nodded  assent  and  drove  off  in  a  direction  that  I 
knew  was  not  the  Palace.  We  fetched  up  in  a 
street  in  front  of  the  Kronprinzen  Hotel.  It  was 
hopeless  to  argue — I  plunged  into  the  hotel  and 
asked  for  some  one  who  spoke  English,  and  ex- 
plained my  dilemma,  to  the  intense  amusement  of 
the  hotel  officials,  and  of  the  taxi  driver  when  it 
was  explained  to  him. 

Prince  Gustav  looked  very  lonely  in  those  big 
rooms  and  they  were  extraordinarily  vibrant  and 


62  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

reminiscent  of  her.*  He  made  me  sit  down  and 
tell  him  all  about  my  plans  and  my  adventure,  and 
fell  thoroughly  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing.  Said 
I  was  quite  right,  if  my  exhibition  at  Agnew's  for 
October  was  all  organized,  not  to  sacrifice  the 
chance  of  this  experience,  on  that  account.  He 
thought  the  expedition  a  dangerous  one,  but  sen- 
sibly admitted  that  that  was  my  concern,  and  no 
one  else's. 

He  asked  me,  of  course,  a  lot  of  questions  as  to 
what  sort  of  men  Kamenev  and  Litvinoff  were.  I 
couldn't  help  being  perfectly  frank,  and  telling  him 
my  sincere  impressions. 

While  I  was  there  Kamenev  telephoned  to  say 
that  the  Consulate  of  Esthonia  had  given  me  my 
vise. 

At  luncheon,  the  lady-in-waiting  and  the 
A.D.C.'s  seemed  rather  bewildered.  It  certainly 
must  have  appeared  fantastic  to  them,  accus- 
tomed to  the  dull  routine  of  Court  life,  to  be  en- 
tertaining some  one  who  was  on  the  way  to  Rus- 
sia with  Kamenev  to  sculp  the  heads  of  Lenin  and 
Trotsky. 

The  Prince  was  overwhelming  in  his  desire  to 
help  my  material  comforts.  He  telephoned  for 
biscuits,  and  two  large  tins  arrived,  also  cigarettes. 
He  also  wrote  out  his  prospective  trip  to  Athens 

*  The  Crown  Princess  died  in  Stockholm  in  May,   1920. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY        63 

and  Italy,  in  hopes  that  possibly  we  may  meet  if 
I  come  back  that  way. 

He  escorted  me  to  the  taxi  that  awaited  me  in 
the  courtyard,  and  wished  me  luck,  and  God-speed. 

I  returned  to  the  Grand  Hotel  and  found  an 
alarming  crowd  of  Comrads  lunching  with  Kam- 
enev  in  his  sitting-room  and  we  had  to  leave  al 
most  immediately  to  catch  our  boat  for  Reval. 


September  17TI1,  1920,  Friday. 

It  is  evening,  we  have  just  put  in  at  Hongo,  a 
Finnish  port.  No  one  is  allowed  off  the  ship,  by 
order  of  the  Port  authorities.  Finland  is  not  yet 
at  peace  with  Russia,  and  Kamenev  would  prob- 
ably be  arrested  if  he  put  a  foot  on  shore.  The 
last  time  he  walked  into  a  Finnish  territory  in 
1 9 17,  not  knowing  the  whites  were  in  possession 
of  the  town,  he  was  put  in  prison  for  three  months, 
and  by  a  miracle  was  not  shot.  So  far  we  have 
had  a  pretty  good  journey,  and  the  little  boat  has 
hugged  the  coast  of  the  Oland  Islands.  We  have 
had  to  put  into  Hongo  for  the  night,  because  we 
can  only  steam  by  day  on  account  of  the  floating 
mines  between  here  and  Reval  that  have  not  yet 
been  cleared. 

I  have  spent  half  the  day  in  my  cabin  sleeping, 
the  other  half  on  deck  talking.     I  have  lost  all 


64  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

track  of  days  and  dates,  we  seem  to  have  been 
journeying  forever. 

There  are  no  pleasure  trippers  or  idle  curious 
on  board.  Practically  every  one  is  bound  for  Rus- 
sia, and  we  look  at  one  another  curiously,  wonder- 
ing what  each  other's  mission  is.  There  are  Com- 
rads  returning,  and  there  are  journalists,  traders 
and  bankers.  People  who  hope  to  get  through 
from  Reval,  and  people  who  probably  will,  others 
who  certainly  won't  get  through. 

Kamenev  is  watched  by  every  one,  and  we  have 
made  innumerable  acquaintances.  Already  there 
is  a  little  group  of  friends  around  us,  whom  one 
has  the  feeling  of  having  known  a  long  time.  To- 
morrow we  go  on  to  Reval.  It  seems  to  me  too 
wonderful  and  unbelievable  that  I  am  really  on 
this  boat  of  fears  and  dreams :  fears  of  not  getting 
on  board,  and  dreams  of  the  world  it  would  sail 
me  to. 

September  i8th,  1920,  Saturday. 
At  dawn  we  left  Hongo,  but  there  was  such  a 
wind  blowing  that  the  ship  anchored  just  at  the 
entrance  of  the  harbor,  and  for  a  few  hours  we 
swung  around.  No  one  complained  of  delay,  no 
one  seemed  to  be  in  a  hurry.  There  was  no  at- 
tempt to  keep  a  scheduled  time.  A  calm  atmos- 
phere of  fatalism,  which  is  probably  Russian, 
seemed  to  hang  over  us. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         65 

The  sun  was  shining  brilliantly  when  we  finally 
set  out  to  sea,  and  I  was  having  a  most  interesting 
conversation  with  Mr.  Aschberg,  a  Swedish 
banker,  who  did  me  the  compliment  of  talking 
political  economy  to  me,  of  which  I  understood 
nothing.  He  told  me  interesting  things  about 
Bolshevik  business  transactions  with  Germany,  in 
which  it  seemed  that  the  Bolsheviks  were  alien- 
ating the  German  workers  by  negotiating  with  the 
German  capitalists. 

In  my  own  mind  I  did  not  see  how  they  could 
do  otherwise  but  my  ignorance  on  these  things  is 
so  great  that  I  try  to  learn  all  I  can  without  giv- 
ing myself  away  by  asking  too  many  questions. 
It  is  a  slow  process,  but  I  have  hopes.  The  mere 
fact  of  being  under  the  wing  of  a  man  like  Kame- 
nev,  and  bound  for  Russia,  seems  to  make  people 
talk  to  me  as  if  I  were  a  man.  It  is  a  great  com- 
fort no  longer  to  meet  people  on  a  social  or  super- 
ficial ground.  There  were  people  even  who  talked 
to  me  on  most  obscure  subjects,  and  asked  for 
my  intercession  for  them  with  Kamenev! 

At  sunset  we  steamed  into  Reval,  where  the 
pointed  towers  and  the  sound  of  old  bells,  as  in 
Italy,  awakened  one  to  a  new  atmosphere  that  was 
no  longer  Scandinavian.  A  motor  met  us  at  the 
quay,  the  only  motor  there,  and  a  man  who  had 
crossed  with  us,  and  whom  I  suspected  of  being 
a  British  agent,  said  to  me  ironically  as  he  drove 


66  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

away  in  a  droshki :  "How  very  smart  and  distin- 
guished of  you  to  have  a  motor " 

Kamenev's  boy  of  12  met  us,  and  there  were 
two  small  children  as  well,  belonging  to  Gukofski, 
the  Soviet  representative  at  Reval.  They  took  up 
most  of  the  room  that  was  needed  for  luggage. 
Alexandre  Kamenev  had  to  stand  on  the  step  out- 
side, and  a  soldier  of  the  Red  Army  on  the  other. 
Thus  our  curious  car-load  made  its  way,  hooting 
loudly  through  medieval  tortuous  streets. 

What  followed  is  rather  nebulous  in  my  mind. 
I  was  very  tired  and  the  town  very  dark,  there 
were  stars  overhead,  but  no  street  lamps.  We 
drove  to  some  bleak  building  calling  itself  the 
Hotel  Petersbourg,  which  seemed  to  be  the  Bol- 
shevik G.H.Q.  It  was  dirty  and  grim,  and  full 
of  strange  looking  people  who  talked  nothing  that 
I  understood.  They  looked  at  me  strangely,  a 
great  many  hands  shook  mine.  Kamenev  was  too 
busy  to  explain  to  me  what  our  plans  were,  or  what 
was  going  to  happen  next,  or  maybe  he  forgot  that 
I  could  not  understand.  He  was  too  surrounded 
for  me  to  be  able  to  ask  him  any  questions,  so  I 
just  looked  vague,  waited  about  and  followed, 
relying  on  my  eyes  to  convey  the  explanations  that 
my  ears  were  denied!  Kamenev  was  the  center 
of  perpetual  discussions  in  which  every  one  spoke 
at  the  same  moment,  very  quickly  and  very  loud. 
At  first  I  suspected  a  most  agitating  State  Coun- 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         67 

cil,  but  it  turned  out  to  be  merely  a  discussion  as 
to  where  we  should  have  supper.  Finally  it  was 
decided  that  we  should  go  to  the  apartment  in  a 
hotel  where  the  wife  of  a  Comrad  would  look 
after  us.  Off  we  went  on  foot  over  cobblestones. 
The  streets  were  full  of  people  who  moved  like 
shadows,  and  one  could  only  see  faces  when  they 
passed  the  glare  of  a  lighted  doorway.  We  fol- 
lowed along  in  couples.  At  my  side  was  Alexandre 
Kamenev,  a  nice  boy  and  friendly,  but  he  could 
talk  only  Russian. 

We  got  to  the  hotel  (such  a  hotel!  more  like  a 
wayside  inn).  We  were  taken  to  the  Comrad's 
apartment,  where  his  wife  received  us  with  great 
cordiality  and  talked  to  me  in  good  French. 

There  was  a  samovar,  and  we  had  excellent 
tea  with  lemon  in  it,  and  some  cold  smoked  salmon 
on  thick  pieces  of  buttered  bread.  Kamenev  and 
two  Comrads  were  too  absorbed  in  their  discus- 
sion to  eat  anything.  One  Comrad  was  telling 
something;  Kamenev  took  notes,  and  our  host,  a 
small  nervous  man,  rolled  bread  pellets. 

Madame  in  an  even  tenor  plied  me  with  ques- 
tions: 

"When  did  you  leave  London?" 

"How  long  did  you  take  from  Stockholm  to 
Rcval?  Oh  dear — a  day  and  a  half  late!  We 
have  no  news  here,  tell  me  some." 


68  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

"Is  Comrad  Kamenev  really  chasse  from  Eng- 
land?" 

"Is  it  true  Krassin  will  soon  follow?" 
"What  pretty  hair  you  have,  Mademoiselle,  is 
it  naturally  that  color?     Does  it  curl  naturally 

«^  '3" 

SO  r 

"Is  there  a  famine  in  England?  I  hear  there  is 
no  longer  sugar  or  butter.  But  there  will  be  a 
famine  when  your  strike  begins." 

"Whatl    you    have    not    a    mackintosh    with 

you ?" 

"Nor  an  umbrella?" 

"Nor  thicker  shoes  than  that?" 

"But  do  you  not  know  there  is  nothing  to  be  had 
in  Russia?" 

"You  have  goloshes?    That  is  good." 

"And  soap?  Yes,  they  will  do  your  washing  if 
you  give  them  soap  to  do  it  with " 

Kamenev  left  us  to  attend  a  meeting  elsewhere. 
It  was  now  pretty  late,  and  I  was  very  tired,  the 
room  was  small,  full  of  smoke  and  food.  When 
I  had  finished  my  tea  Alexandre  Kamenev  and 
the  soldier  who  had  not  left  us  since  our  arrival 
took  me  back  to  the  headquarters.  I  did  not  know 
what  was  to  become  of  me  and  no  one  under- 
stood me.  The  dimly  lit  corridors  were  crowded 
with  strange  loungers.  I  was  shown  into  a  grim 
room  where  Lenin  and  Trotsky  adorned  the  walls, 
and  there  I  sat  silently  among  people  I  could  not 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         69 

talk  with.    After  awhile  to  my  intense  relief  Karrn 
enev  appeared. 

In  this  strange  milieu  in  which  I  was  so  utterly 
lost  Kamenev  seemed  to  me  the  oldest  and  the 
only  friend  I  had  in  the  world,  and  I  metaphori- 
cally clung  to  him  as  a  drowning  man  to  a  straw. 
Somebody  in  the  crowd,  taking  pity  on  my  help- 
lessness, or  else  wondering  what  I  was  asking  for 
in  three  unknown  languages,  had  sent  him  to  me. 
He  asked  what  on  earth  I  was  doing  there,  as  if  I 
knewl  I  followed  him  to  another  room,  bigger 
and  fuller  of  people,  who  all  looked  very  serious 
and  sat  in  a  circle.  The  meeting  went  on,  and  I 
sat  obscurely  in  a  corner  wondering  whether  if  I 
understood  Russian,  I  would  be  allowed  to  be 
there.  At  last,  bored  by  watching  them  and 
learning  nothing  from  it,  I  got  out  a  pencil  and 
paper  from  the  hand  case  I  had  with  me  and 
wrote  a  letter  to  Dick.  It  was  the  last  place  from 
which  I  could  post  a  letter  and  the  last  time  I  could 
write  letters  uncensored.  I  wrote  to  Dick  from 
my  heart,  thinking  of  him  at  that  moment  in  bed, 
so  very  far  away,  looking  so  round  and  pink,  and 
with  one  arm  outside  the  bedclothes.  Dick  and 
Margaret  both  know  that  when  I  am  away  from 
them  I  come  in  spirit  in  the  night.  They  often 
find  a  rose  petal,  or  a  bud,  or  maybe  a  tiny  feather, 
something  very  light  that  I  leave  on  the  pillow  to 
prove  that  I  have  been.     Never  had  I  been  more 


70  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

with  them  in  spirit  than  this  night,  when  I  felt  s^^- 
lonely  and  bewildered.  Later  on  I  wrote  an  apol- 
ogy to  F.  E.  explaining  why  I  had  not  turned  up  at 
Charlton  to  do  his  bust.  It  was  one  of  the  things 
that  I  felt  rather  badly  about,  for  as  I  had  left 
England  the  very  day  I  was  due  at  the  Birken- 
heads'  I  could  not  at  that  time  explain,  and  they 
must  hav^e  thought  me  so  very  rude.  It  is  funny 
that  none  of  these  people,  not  even  Kamenev,  have 
heard  of  F.  E.  either  as  Smith,  Lord  Birkenhead, 
or  Lord  Chancellor.  Chancellor  of  the  Excheq- 
uer they  understand,  but  no  other  Exchequer. 

When  at  last  the  meeting  was  over  I  was  in- 
troduced to  Gukofski,  and  gathered  it  was  his 
room  we  were  in.  He  is  a  little  bent  man,  who 
broke  his  back  sometime  past  in  a  motor  accident. 
He  has  red  hair  and  beard,  and  small  narrow  eyes 
that  look  at  one  scrutinizingly  and  give  one  a  shiv- 
ery feeling.  He  asked  me  what  my  mission  was, 
and  when   I   told  him   he   said,   "Do   you   think 

you  are  going  to  get  Lenin  to  sit  to  you ?"    1 

did  think  so.  His  eyes  twinkled  with  merriment. 
"Well  you  won't!"  he  said  and  chuckled. 

Kamenev  went  off  to  converse  on  the  telephon.' 
with  Tchitcherin  at  Moscow,  and  did  not  com  . 
back.  I  waited  and  waited;  Gukofski  began  pack- 
ing a  trunk;  he  was  evidently  coming  with  us.  1 
watched  him — a  man's  packing  is  always  a  rather 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY        71 

interesting  and  pathetic  sit^ht — but  even  that 
ceased  to  interest  me  after  awhile,  and  I  became 
conscious  of  a  feeling  bordering  on  tears  and  sleep. 
Where  on  earth  was  Kamencv,  and  why  didn't 
he  come  back,  or  else  explain  to  me  how  long  this 
waiting  was  to  go  on.  After  awhile  I  discovered 
that  Gukofski's  secretary',  a  young  man  called  Gai, 
could  speak  perfectly  good  English.  From  him  I 
learnt  that  our  train  w^as  leaving  "about  mid- 
night" for  Moscow,  and  that  I  could  go  to  it  any 
time  I  liked  and  find  my  sleeper.  I  ought  to  have 
known  this  long  before,  it  was  already  nearly  mid- 
night. I  made  Alexandre  Kamenev  and  the  sol- 
dier take  me  to  the  station  immediately.  Of 
course  when  I  got  there  the  train  was  nowhere  to 
be  found,  it  was  in  a  siding.  I  sat  down  on  a 
stone  step  and  waited,  thankful  at  least  for  the 
fresh  air  and  the  absence  of  glaring  lights.  When 
our  "wagon-de-luxe"  finally  appeared  it  was  the 
best  I've  ever  seen,  had  been  the  Special  of  the 
Minister  for  Railways,  and  was  very  spacious 
and  comfortable.  As  soon  as  Kamenev,  Gukofski 
and  his  little  girl  joined  us,  the  train  started  and 
we  had  a  midnight  supper  of  tea  and  caviare. 


September  19111,  1920.     Sunday. 
All  night  we  have  journeyed  and  all  day.     It  is 
now  evening.     Our  special  train  has  stopped  at  a 


72  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

wayside  station  for  three  hours  to  await  the  Petro- 
grad  train,  to  which  we  will  link  on  for  Moscow. 
Then  we  will  travel  again  all  night  and  arrive  at 
our  destination  to-morrow  morning. 

It  has  been  a  beautiful  day  of  sunshine.  I 
crossed  the  frontier  riding  on  the  engine,  the  front 
of  our  car  has  a  veranda  from  which  one  can  get 
a  beautiful  view.  We  crossed  two  wide  rivers  on 
temporary  bridges,  as  the  original  ones  lay  in 
debris  below  us,  having  been  blown  up  by  Yude- 
nitch  in  his  retreat  last  year  after  his  attack  on 
Petrograd.  The  woods  on  either  side  of  the 
river  were  full  of  trenches,  dugouts,  and  barbed 
wire.  I  had  tea  and  bread  and  caviare  at  9 
A.  M.  and  the  same  thing  at  3  P.  M.  and  again  at 
7.  There  Is  no  restaurant  car,  we  have 
brought  our  food  with  us  in  a  hamper.  There  are 
other  things  to  eat  besides  caviare  only  I  cannot 
eat  them.  There  Is  cheese,  and  some  ham  which 
isn't  ham  I  have  ever  known,  and  there  is  a  sort 
of  schnitzel  sausage  and  some  apples. 

The  soldier  who  was  with  us  yesterday  and  Is 
still  with  us,  and  whose  name  is  Marinasky,  Is  a 
chauffeur.  I  thought  he  was  an  officer.  He  eats 
with  us,  smokes  with  us,  joins  In  the  discussions 
and  kindly  lays  the  table  for  food  and  clears  away 
for  us.  It  sounds  odd,  but  it  seemed  quite  natural 
until  I  heard  he  was  a  chauffeur.  My  bourgeois 
bringing     up     is     constantly     having     surprises! 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         73 

Marinasky  has  a  nice  clear-cut  face,  and  square 
jaw  like  the  Americans  one  saw  during  the  war. 

This  afternoon  we  got  out  of  the  train  and 
walked  up  the  line  as  there  were  three  hours  to 
dispose  of.  I  led  the  way  because  there  was  a 
wood  I  wanted  to  go  to.  It  was  extremely  pretty, 
and  the  moss  sank  beneath  one's  feet.  The  chil- 
dren collected  berries  and  scarlet  mushrooms, 
which  they  brought  to  me  as  offerings. 

On  the  way  back  Kamenev  and  his  boy  and  I 
found  a  dry  place  on  pine  needles,  where  we  lay 
down,  and  to  the  sound  of  father  and  son  talking 
softly  in  Russian  I  went  fast  asleep.  The  sun 
was  setting  when  they  woke  me  up.  In  the  heart 
of  Russia,  in  the  company  of  Bolshevists,  I  had 
spent  an  Arcadian  hour. 


September  20TH,  1920.  Monday. 
Moscow,  the  Kremlin. 
Yesterday  evening  after  we  had  started,  Kame- 
nev left  us  to  go  and  talk  to  Zinoviev,  who  was  on 
the  Petrograd  train,  traveling  also  to  Moscow. 
Zinoviev  is  President  of  the  Petrograd  Soviet 
(and  also  of  the  Third  International).  I  did  not 
see  Kamenev  again  that  evening,  but  at  2  A.  M.  he 
knocked  at  my  door  and  waked  me  up  with  many 
apologies  to  tell  me  news  he  thought  I  would  like 
to  hear.    Zinoviev  had  just  told  him  that  the  tele- 


74  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

gram  announcing  his  arrival  with  me  came  in  the 
middle  of  a  Soviet  Conference.  It  caused  a  good 
deal  of  amusement,  but  Lenin  said  that  whatever 
one  felt  about  it  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
giv^e  me  some  sittings  as  I  had  come  so  far  for  the 
purpose.  "So  Lenin  has  consented  and  I  thought 
it  was  worth  while  to  wake  you  up  to  tell  you 

that "  Kamenev  w^as  in  great  spirits.  Zinoviev 

had  evidently  told  him  things  he  was  glad  to  hear 
— especially,  I  gathered,  no  blame  or  censure  was 
going  to  be  put  upon  him  for  having  failed  In  his 
mission  to  England. 

We  reached  Moscow  at  10:30  A.  M.  and  I 
waited  In  the  train  so  that  Kamenev  and  his  wife 
could  get  their  tender  greetings  ov^er  without  my 
presence.  I  watched  them  through  the  window: 
the  greeting  on  one  side,  however,  was  not  ap- 
parent In  Its  tenderness.  I  waited,  as  they  walked 
up  the  platform  talking  animatedly.  Finally  Mrs. 
Kamenev  came  into  the  compartment  and  shook 
hands  with  me.     Mrs.  Philip  Snowden  in  her  book 

has  described  her  as  "an  amiable  little  lady " 

She  has  small  brown  eyes  and  thin  lips.  She 
looked  at  the  remains  of  our  breakfast  on  the 
saloon  table  and  said  querulously,  "We  don't  live 

'chic'   like   that  in   Moscow "     Goodness!     I 

thought,  not  even  like  that There  was  more 

discussion  in  Russian  between  the  two.      My  ex- 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         75 

pressionless  face  watched  them.  I  have  become 
reconciled  to  not  understanding. 

As  we  left  the  train  she  said  to  me:  "Leo  Kame- 
nev  has  quite  forgotten  about  Russia — the  people 
here  will  say  he  is  a  Bourgeois."  Leo  Kamenev 
spat  upon  the  platform  in  the  most  plebeian  way,  I 
suppose  to  disprove  this.  It  was  extremely  unlike 
him! 

We  piled  into  a  beautiful  open  Rolls-Royce  car 
and  were  driven  full  speed  with  a  great  deal  of 
hooting  through  streets  that  were  shuttered  as 
after  an  air-raid.  Mrs.  Kamenev  said  to  me:  "It 
is  dirty,  our  Moscow,  isn't  it?"  Well,  yes,  one 
couldn't  \ery  well  say  it  wasn't. 

We  came  to  the  Kremlin;  the  car  had  a  pass  to 
get  in.  It  is  high  up  and  dominates  Moscow  and 
consists  of  the  main  palace,  some  palaces,  con- 
vents, monasteries,  and  churches  encircled  by  a 
wall  and  towers.  The  sun  was  shining  when  we 
arrived  and  all  the  gold  domes  were  glittering  in 
the  light.  Ev^erywhere  one  looked  there  were 
domes  and  towers. 

We  drove  up  to  a  side  entrance  under  an  arch- 
way, and  then  made  our  way,  a  solemn  procession 
carrying  luggage  up  endless  stone  stairs,  and  along 
stone  corridors  to  the  Kamenev  apartments.  A 
little  peasant  maid  with  a  yellow  handkerchief  tied 
over  her  head  ran  out  to  greet  us,   and  kissed 


76  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

Kamenev  on  the  mouth.  Then  ensued  the  awk- 
ward moment  of  not  being  shown  to  any  room. 
After  eleven  days  traveling  one  felt  a  longing  for 
peace,  and  to  be  able  to  unpack,  instead  of  which 
the  Russian  discussion  was  resumed,  and  I  sat 
stupidly  still  with  nothing  to  say. 

For  breakfast  I  was  given  coffee  and  an  over- 
helping  of  dry  tepid  rice.  When  for  a  moment  I 
found  myself  alone  with  Kamenev  I  asked  him 
what  was  to  become  of  me  and  begged  him  to 
send  me  to  an  hotel.  There  are  no  hotels,  every- 
thing belongs  to  the  Government.  There  are, 
however,  guest  houses,  but  he  was  averse  to  this  as 
he  said  I  would  be  lonely  and  strange.  He  told  me 
to  leave  the  matter  entirely  to  him  and  he  would 
decide  in  two  hours. 

Meanwhile  I  went  for  a  walk  In  the  Kremlin 
grounds  with  Alexandre  and  took  a  lot  of  photo- 
graphs. The  beauty  of  it  all  was  a  wonderment, 
and  I  was  quite  happy  not  to  go  outside  the  walls, 
which  I  could  not  do  as  I  had  no  pass.  Then  I 
came  back  and  waited  and  waited  for  Kamenev 
to  come  and  tell  me  where  I  was  to  go.  As  the 
day  passed  by  I  felt  more  and  more  lonely.  For 
lack  of  another  book  I  read  de  Maupassant's 
"Yvette,"  but  hated  it  and  thanked  God  that 
Bolshevism  had  at  least  wiped  out  that  vile  world 
of  Idle  men.    At  sunset  I  sat  on  the  ledge  of  the 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         77 

open  window  and  listened  to  the  bells  that  were 
ringing  from  all  the  domes  in  Moscow.  Below 
me  was  an  avenue  of  trees  that  reached  up  to  me 
with  autumn  colors.  I  thought  of  Dick  and  that 
to-day  is  his  birthday.  I  knew  he  must  be  ask- 
ing, "Where  is  Meitia,  why  doesn't  she  come? 
How  long  will  she  be?" 

When  it  was  dark  I  was  still  looking  out  and 
Anna  Andrevna,  the  little  maid,  came  in  softly  in 
her  string-soled  shoes  and  put  her  arms  round 
me.  She  told  me  in  broken  German  that  I  must 
not  "traurig  sein." 

Kamenev  came  in  at  half-past  ten.  He  was  very 
tired  and  he  precluded  all  further  discussion  by 
saying  that  it  was  too  late  to  go  anywhere  else,  and 
that  I  must  stay  the  night.  Mrs.  Kamenev  came 
in  from  her  work  a  little  later.  She  sank  into  a 
chair  and  drew  her  hand  across  her  brow  in  the 
most  approved  way  to  betoken  physical  exhaus- 
tion. I  was  given  Alexandre's  room  through 
which  they  have  to  pass  to  get  to  theirs,  and  I 
have  to  pass  through  theirs  to  get  to  the  wash 
room,  there  being  no  washstand  in  my  bedroom. 
I  suppose  Alexandre  slept  on  a  sofa.  Kamenev 
went  back  to  his  Soviet  meeting  at  eleven,  and  I 
heard  him  pass  through  my  room  when  he  came 
home  at  4  A.  M. 


78  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

September  2ist,  1920.     Kremlin,  Moscow. 

I  waked  up  feeling  tons  better,  the  sunshine  too 
wonderful.  Both  the  Kamenevs  went  off  to  their 
respective  works,  she  at  10  and  he  at  11.  I  went 
out  into  the  Kremlin  grounds  with  Alexandre,  and 
while  he  played  football  with  Serge  Trotsky  I  sat 
among  the  columns  of  the  Alexander  Memorial 
and  indulged  in  a  kaleidoscope  of  thought.  Serge 
is  the  twelve-year-old  son  of  Trotsky  and  is  a  fine 
little  boy  with  a  broad  chest  and  a  straight  back. 
He  looks  like  the  heir  to  a  throne  in  the  guise  of 
a  peasant. 

At  I  o'clock  a  cousin  of  Leo  Kamenev's  who 
can  speak  French  and  English  came  to  fetch  me. 
Outside  the  Kremlin  gate  an  old  man,  who  looked 
like  a  peasant,  stopped  me  and  asked  in  English 
if  I  was  Sylvia  Pankhurst. 

Hearing  I  was  not,  he  asked,  "But  you  are  Eng- 
lish? and  I  hope  a  good  Communist?"  I  did  not 
answer,  I  just  pressed  his  hand. 

We  went  to  the  Musee  Alexandre  III,  the 
garden  of  which  is  strewn  with  large  bronze  eagles 
thrown  down  from  the  pediment.  They  are  very 
emblematic  of  the  mighty  who  are  fallen! 

The  Museum  contains  replicas  of  classics,  the 
originals  of  many  of  which  are  in  the  British 
Museum.  But  the  arrangements  and  the  back- 
grounds are  so  good,  that  it  gives  one  more  pleas- 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         79 

ure  to  look  at  the  Greek  and  Assyrian  replicas 
here  than  to  see  the  originals  in  London. 

There  was  a  school  of  boys  and  girls  (extremely 
well  fed  and  well  dressed)  being  shown  round,  and 
there  was  also  a  magnificent  old  peasant  with  long 
hair  and  aquiline  nose,  who  told  us  that  he  wanted 
before  he  died  to  see  what  a  museum  was  like. 
Both  he  and  the  schoolmaster  asked  us  if  we  could 
explain  things  to  them  as  there  were  no  guides. 
Even  had  I  been  able  to  speak  the  language,  I 
should  have  been  at  a  loss  to  explain  the  Greek 
Temple  with  its  Cariatides  which  we  were  facing 
at  that  moment.  The  children  probably — and  the 
peasant  surely — had  never  heard  of  the  Acropolis, 
or  of  Greek  mythology.  Where  would  one 
begin?  One  could  have  said,  "Isn't  it  beautiful? 
— don't  you  see  how  beautiful  it  is?"  And  hope 
that  they  did  sec  it.  Since  I  heard  a  guide  ex- 
plaining Rodin  at  South  Kensington  to  Australian 
soldiers  I  have  felt  sure  that  Art  can  be  felt,  and 
not  explained. 

In  the  end  we  procured  a  guidebook  and  sent 
the  old  peasant  off  with  the  children's  school,  and 
left  the  master  to  do  his  best.  When  I  got  back 
it  was  to  find  no  one  at  home.  I  ate  some  food  as 
I  was  hungry,  and  concluded  that  I  was  still  to  be 
a  guest  at  the  Kremlin.  Late  in  the  afternoon  I 
found  my  way  through  the  maze  of  corri- 
dors and  staircases,  out  into  the  grounds  alone. 


8o  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

I  wandered  about,  still  hynotlzed  by  the  beauty  of 
the  sun-reflecting  domes,  and  by  the  dead  stillness 
which  seemed  a  protest  from  the  Royal  stones. 
Over  the  Tsar's  palace  crows  pecked  at  the  flag- 
staff where  once  the  Royal  standard  had  flown. 
There  is  a  clock  in  a  tower  at  the  Kremlin  Gate 
and  it  has  a  complaining  and  depressing  chime. 
It  complains  once  at  the  quarter,  four  times  at 
the  hour.  It  seemed  to  say,  "My  people  are  gone  I 
and  I  am  sad,  and  I  am  sad "  It  doubtless  com- 
plained when  Napoleon  took  possession,  at  the 
Tsariste  days  as  well,  and  it  will  always  complain. 
There  is  no  satisfying  some  people. 

I  have  a  sort  of  feeling  that  I  am  staying  at 
Versailles  just  after  Louis  XVI.  My  emotions 
and  impressions  are  too  deep,  too  many,  and  too 
bewildering  to  be  measured  in  words. 

In  the  evening  Alexandre  took  me  to  a  play  at 
the  Theatre  des  Arts.  A  big  theater  and  well 
filled.  The  staging  was  very  good.  The  play 
which  is  adapted  from  an  old  Polish  legend  called 
"Corrodine"  was  well  acted  so  that  without  under- 
standing a  word  I  gathered  some  of  the  sense.  In 
front  of  us  sat  Madame  Zinoviev  with  a  Comrad 
and  I  was  glad  when  they  talked  to  me  in  French. 
It  was  not  until  afterwards  that  I  learnt  who  she 
was,  much  to  my  amusement,  remembering  that  I 
had  told  her  my  errand,  and  that  Zinoviev  was 
among  the  heads  promised  to  me.     She  asked  me 


O 
US 


o 

b 

u 

o 


D 

O 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY        8i 

if  I  would  not  have  to  go  to  Petrograd  to  do  him 
but  I  said  no,  that  he  was  in  Moscow  at  the 
moment,  and  that  if  I  could  only  find  a  place  to 
work  in,  he  would  sit  to  me  at  once.  I  wondered 
why  she  laughed. 


September  22nd,   1920.     Moscow. 

Mrs.  Kamenev  went  to  her  work  as  usual  at  10 
A.  M.  At  breakfast  half  an  hour  later  Leo  Boris- 
vitch,  as  he  is  called,  promised  not  to  do  any  work 
or  keep  any  engagement  until  he  had  taken  me 
to  my  new  headquarters  in  a  guest  house.  We 
were  delayed  in  starting  by  John  Reed,  the  Ameri- 
can Communist,  who  came  to  see  him  on  some 
business;  a  well-built,  good-looking  young  man, 
who  has  given  up  everything  at  home,  to  throw 
his  heart  and  life  into  work  here.  I  understand 
the  Russian  spirit,  but  what  strange  force  impels 
an  apparently  normal  young  man  from  the  United 
States?  I  am  told  by  the  Russians  that  his  book, 
"Ten  Days  that  Shook  the  World,"  is  the  best 
book  on  the  Revolution,  and  that  it  has  become  a 
National   classic   and   is    taught   in    the    schools. 

There  also  arrived  to  waylay  us  a  painter  called 
Rosenfeld,  who  wore  canvas  shoes  like  a  peasant, 
and  kissed  Kamenev  on  his  arrival.  He  offered  to 
show  me  museums  and  things,  but  our  only  medium 
was  German,  and  his  was  a  good  deal  worse  than 


82  MAYFATR  TO  MOSCOW 

mine,  which  was  a  great  drawback.  At  mid- 
day, however,  we  broke  free,  and  started  off 
with  my  luggage.  I  bade  farewell  to  the  Krem- 
lin and  we  drove  across  the  river  to  a  guest  house 
on  the  opposite  bank  facing  the  Tsar's  Palace. 
The  guest  house  is  the  requisitioned  house  of  a 
sugar  king.  It  is  inhabited  by  various  Foreign 
Office  officials,  also  by  Mr.  Rothstein  and  an 
American  financier,  Mr.  W.  B.  Vanderlip.  A 
beautiful  bedroom  and  dressing  room  are  mine, 
the  walls  are  of  green  damask.  It  looks  more 
like  a  drawing  room  than  a  bedroom.  The  house 
is  more  or  less  exactly  as  the  sugar  king  left  it, 
full  of  a  mixture  of  good  and  bad  things.  It  is 
partly  modern  Gothic  and  partly  German  Louis 
XVI.  The  ceiling  of  one  of  the  big  rooms  is 
painted  by  Flameng,  but  the  best  pictures  (there 
were  some  Corots)  have  been  taken  to  a  museum. 
One  is  extremely  grateful  for  its  comfort  and  hos- 
pitality, even  if  its  taste  in  decoration  is  not  of 
the  best. 

Moreover,  one  can  enjoy  it  lightheartedly,  for 
the  exiled  sugar  king,  it  is  rumored,  had  other 
palaces  abroad,  and  never  came  to  Moscow  but 
for  a  few  weeks  in  the  year.  He  also  has  money 
invested  abroad  and  is  not  in  want,  and  can  well 
spare  his  Moscow  Palazzo  for  so  good  a  purpose. 
His  old  manservant  waits  upon  us,  and  takes  the 
tenderest  care  of  the  house,  in  the  belief  that  the 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         83 

old  regime  will  return,  bringing  the  owners  of  the 
house  with  it.  He  says  openly  that  he  is  not  a 
Bolshevist,  and  takes  much  pride  in  changing  our 
plates  a  great  many  times,  and  making  the  most 
of  our  humble  fare.  He  insists  that  so  far  as  it 
depends  upon  him  we  shall  behave  like  perfect 
ladies  and  gentlemen  and  be  treated  as  such. 

I  stayed  at  home  all  day  unpacking  at  last,  and 
settling  down  into  my  temporary  home.  Kame- 
nev  promised  to  come  back  in  the  course  of  the 
day,  but  he  didn't.  He  telephoned,  however,  and 
arranged  that  I  should  be  taken  to  the  Ballet  with 
the  party  from  this  house.  We  sat  in  the  Foreign 
Office  box.  The  Ballet  was  "Cophelia,"  beauti- 
fully produced,  and  the  orchestra  one  of  the  finest 
I  ever  heard.  The  theater  is  the  size  of  Covent 
Garden,  and  decorated  with  crimson  and  gold 
boxes  all  round  the  first  tier  and  the  house  was 
packed  throughout. 

The  audience  consisted  of  working  people,  who 
had  admission  free  through  the  distribution  of 
tickets  to  certain  unions.  They  were  a  motley 
crowd,  chiefly  en  blouse.  In  the  Royal  Box,  re- 
served for  Commissars  and  their  wives,  there  was 
a  man  with  a  cloth  cap.  The  women  were  eating 
apples.  In  the  box  next  to  oufs  there  was  an  old 
ivoman  with  a  shawl  over  her  head. 

It  was  intensely  moving  to  see  the  absorbed  at- 
tention of  the   audience.      People  leant  their   cl- 


84  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

bows  on  the  ledges  of  the  boxes  and  watched  the 
ballet  with  an  almost  devouring  interest.  There 
was  not  a  cough,  not  a  whisper.  Only  when 
Cophelia  came  to  hfe  as  the  mechanical  doll,  there 
were  delicious  low  ripples  of  controlled  laughter 
from  the  children. 

At  the  ends  of  the  acts  people  left  the 
stalls  to  rush,  not  for  the  exits  of  the  foyer,  but 
to  get  to  the  front  of  the  gangways  nearest  possi- 
ble to  the  stage  to  see  the  dancers  close  to,  and  to 
applaud  them.  The  people  were  tired  people, 
who  had  worked  all  day  and  had  earned  a  good 
evening  and  were  enjoying  it  to  the  full. 

My  only  contretemps  was  with  a  little  stenog- 
rapher from  the  Foreign  Office  who  was  in  our 
box.  She  observed  that  I  had  on  the  red  enam- 
elled star  of  Communism,  and  that  I  wore  white 
gloves.  One,  she  said,  contradicted  the  other — 
the  white  gloves  were  bourgeois.  I  argued  that  it 
only  mattered  what  was  in  my  heart,  and  not  what 
was  on  my  hands.  But  she  would  not  be  pacified, 
so  I  removed  the  gloves.  Considering  my  cos- 
tume was  a  red  tweed  skirt  with  a  red  wool  jersey 
and  a  tight  fitting  cap,  I  had  thought  that  gloves 
would  not  make  me  over-dressed. 

If  my  evening's  pleasure  was  neutralized  by  the 
concentrated  aroma  which  arose  from  the  great 
unwashed,  it  is  only  fair  to  observe  there  is  no  soap 
in  the  country,  and  most  people  have  for  two  years 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         85 

or  so  only  had  the  one  suit  of  clothes  In  which 
they  stand  up.  No  wonder — !  In  the  car  coming 
home  I  met  Mr.  Rothstein,  who  is  living  in  the 
same  house.  I  wish  I  could  recall  the  abusive 
article  I  read  about  him  in  an  English  newspaper, 
but  all  I  remember  is  that  he  is  not  readmitted  to 
England.  He  seems  to  be  an  energetic,  forceful 
little  man.  I  imagine  he  is  pretty  clever.  We  had 
supper  together  after  the  theater,  and  conversa- 
tion drifted  onto  that  eternal  comedy,  the  Nation- 
alization of  women.  I  happened  to  say  that  this 
had  done  more  to  harm  the  Bolshevik  cause  than 
almost  anything  and  morever  that  quite  serious 
people  still  believed  it.  Mr.  Rothstein  interposed 
rather  sharply,   "Well   a   little  select   circle  who 

reads  the  Morning  Post  perhaps  believe  it " 

Is  it  possible,  I  wonder,  that  he  is  right,  and 
that  the  "little  select  circle"  do  not  count  as  much 
as  I  have  all  my  life  taken  for  granted  they  did? 


September  23RD,  1920.  Thursday.  Moscow. 

I  wasted  a  lot  of  time  this  morning  trying  to 
fix  things  up  without  the  help  of  Kamenev.  As 
things  have  turned  out  I  might  have  saved  myself 
the  trouble.  John  Reed  told  me  that  I  never  would 
begin  work  unless  I  arranged  everything  for  my- 
self, and  depended  on  no  one  here.  On  the  other 
hand  Mr.  Vanderlip  told  me  to  keep  calm,  as  his 


86  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

experience  was  that  everything  came  in  time. 
Thoroughly  impatient,  howev'er,  I  got  hold  of  Mr. 
Rosenfeld  who  arrived  simultaneously  with  Alex- 
andre Kamenev  and  a  motor.  Rosenfeld  took  me 
studio  hunting.  The  Art  schools  seemed  to  be 
very  far  away  from  the  parts  of  Moscow  that  are 
familiar  to  me,  and  although  every  one  seemed 
willing  to  help  there  seemed  to  be  little  to  offer. 
In  the  Academia,  which  I  believe  is  only  just  re- 
opening, they  offered  me  a  place  to  work  in  a  gal- 
lery which  obviously  was  not  suitable.  We  went 
on  to  the  Strogonoff  school,  where  Mr.  Konenkoff, 
one  of  their  most  distinguished  sculptors,  offered 
me  of  his  best.  It  was  like  an  empty  kitchen,  look- 
ing into  a  bleak  courtyard.  The  two  students  who 
followed  us  round  were  not  very  sympathetic.  No  ^ 
doubt  they  thought  it  presumptuous  of  me  to  come 
to  Russia  and  expect  to  do  Lenin !  They  certainly 
did  not  seem  to  think  he  would  sit  to  me.  Kame- 
nev had  warned  me  that  most  of  the  artists  I 
should  meet  would  not  be  Bolsheviks ;  probably  the 
students  I  met  were  not,  and  treated  me  as  such  I 
One  of  them,  a  girl,  and  more  friendly  than  the 
rest,  said  to  me  In  French :  "If  you  are  a  friend  of 
those  in  power  I  suppose  you  will  get  some  food — 
we  are  expected  to  work  here  all  day  from  9  in 
the  morning  till  6  at  night  without  any."  I  asked 
why  she  did  not  bring  her  food  with  her,  and  re- 
ceived some  jumbled  explanation  about  rations  and 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         87 

distribution  and  State  Control,  and  no  shops, 
which  was  so  bewildering  I  avoided  further  dis- 
cussion. It  was  obvious  that  I  did  not  understand 
the  condition  of  things  and  that  I  looked  rather 
stupid  in  consequence.  Another  one  said  to  me 
"Madame,  we  are  waiting  for  deliverance.  For 
two  years  we  have  waited.  We  do  not  know  how 
it  is  to  come,  but  we  just  hope  that  some  morning 
we  may  wake  up  to  find  the  nightmare  is  over!" 
I  said  feebly  that  there  had  been  6  years  of  war, 
and  a  blockade,  but  I  felt  it  was  no  business  of 
mine  to  put  up  a  defense  for  their  system.  I  came 
home  thoroughly  depressed  and  disheartened, 
having  accomplished  nothing.  At  10  p.  M.  I  was 
sitting  in  the  gilded  drawing  room  with  Mr.  Van- 
derlip  when  the  telephone  rang:  it  was  Kamenev. 
He  announced  that  he  had  a  room  for  me  at  the 
Kremlin  and  that  I  must  work  there  because  all 
the  people  I  had  to  do  were  there,  and  it  was  the 
only  way  to  get  them  as  they  were  very  busy.  He 
would  send  some  one  for  me  in  the  morning  to 
take  me  there.  Asked  if  I  was  lonely,  resentful, 
or  bored,  and  pleaded  his  inability  to  get  to  me 
owing  to  stress  of  work.  Begged  me  to  be  patient 
and  good.  Promised  all  would  come  right.  I 
went  to  bed  feeling  really  better. 


88  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

September  24TH,  1920.     Friday.     Moscow. 

Madame  Kamenev's  secretary  fetched  me  at  10 
A.  M.  and  we  found  a  Comrad  waiting  for  us  at 
the  Kremlin  gateway.  He  was  a  painter,  young 
and  bearded,  who  could  speak  only  Russian.  We 
got  our  passes  to  get  Into  the  big  round  building 
which  used  to  be  the  Courts  of  Justice,  and  where 
the  conferences  are  now  held.  It  is  the  Chief 
Building,  and  the  Red  flag  flies  above  It.  Once 
inside  we  walked  forever  as  it  seemed,  along  stone 
corridors  full  of  busy  people.  We  went  to  the 
room  of  Comrad  Unachidse,  one  of  the  most  mag- 
nificent men  I've  ever  seen,  a  real  Maestrovic 
type,  strong  features  and  bushy  red  hair.  Unfor- 
tunately he  also  could  only  speak  Russian.  He 
showed  me  the  room  which  Is  placed  at  my  dis- 
posal. It  is  big  and  nearly  empty,  semicircular  in 
shape,  with  bare  whitewashed  walls.  In  one 
corner  a  formidable  Iron  door  with  round  peep 
holes  in  it  leads  into  a  small  cell  which  contains  a 
safe.  The  safe  Is  sealed  up  with  Soviet  seals.  The 
cell  I  was  told  was  a  disused  prison.  This  prob- 
ably accounted  for  the  atmosphere  of  depression 
and  grimness  which  persisted  In  spite  of  the  sun- 
light which  In  the  afternoon  flooded  my  three  big 
windows.  Opposite,  across  the  courtyard  is  the 
arsenal,  and  all  along  the  arsenal  walls  are  ranged 
the  masses  of  cannon  with  their  "N"  surrounded 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         89 

by  the  laurel  wreath,  which  leaves  one  in  no  doubt 
as  to  their  origin. 

While  I  was  looking  round,  Kamenev  turned 
up,  he  told  me  to  make  a  list  of  my  requirements, 
then  carried  me  off  in  a  car  and  was  able  to  stay 
with  me  until  2  o'clock.  These  moments  together 
snatched  in  between  work  are  so  rare  that  one  al- 
most values  them.  He  told  me  I  was  to  go  to  a 
meeting  at  the  theater  in  the  evening,  and  prom- 
ised I  should  be  in  a  box  near  the  stage  so  that  I 
could  see  well.  He  was  to  address  the  meeting 
on  the  subject  of  his  visit  to  England.  The  party 
from  our  house  were  late  in  starting.  We  got  to 
the  theater  after  the  meeting  had  begun,  and 
were  put  in  the  Tsar's  box.  This  was  already 
crammed  full  to  overflowing,  and  all  the  chairs 
were  occupied  by  Turks,  Chinese,  and  Per- 
sians. No  one  attempted  to  offer  me  a  place.  Mr. 
Vanderlip  and  I  stood  for  some  time;  people 
moved  in  and  out  and  Turks  and  Persians  (I  shall 
never  want  to  smell  geranium  again)  pushed  us 
about  in  their  impatient  efforts  to  get  past  or  over 
us.  All  my  British  blood  was  boiling,  and  I  real- 
ized that  for  the  time  being,  at  all  events,  I  could 
not  regard  the  Turks  and  Persians  and  Chinese 
as  my  brothers. 

After  a  while  Mr.  Vanderlip  and  I  were  moved 
to  the  stage  box.  This  too,  was  full,  but  not  of 
the  same  kind  of  people.     Anyway,  it  was  nearer. 


90  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

and  one  got  a  better  view.  Clara  Setkin,  the  Ger- 
man Socialist,  was  speaking,  spitting  forth  venom 
as  it  sounded.  The  German  language  is  not  beauti- 
ful and  the  ferocious  old  soul,  mopping  her  plain 
face  with  a  large  handkerchief,  was  not  inspiring. 
It  sounded  very  hysterical  and  I  only  understood 
an  outline  of  what  she  was  saying.  Then  Trotsky 
got  up,  and  translated  her  speech  into  Russian. 
He  interested  me  very  much.  He  is  a  man  with 
a  slim,  good  figure,  splendid  fighting  countenance, 
and  his  whole  personality  is  full  of  force.  I  looked 
forward  immensely  to  doing  his  head.  There  is 
something  that  ought  to  lend  itself  to  a  fine  piece 
of  work.  The  overcrowded  house  was  as  still  as 
if  it  were  empty.  They  were  attentive  and  con- 
centrated. 

After  Trotsky  Mme.  Kolontai  spoke.  She  has 
short  dark  hair.  Perhaps  she  spoke  well,  but  of 
that  I  could  not  judge.  Tired  of  standing  and  of 
not  understanding  I  left  the  theater  at  the  moment 
when  a  great  many  repetitions  of  Churchill's  and 
Lloyd  George's  names  were  rocking  the  house  with 
laughter. 


September  25TH,  1920.     Saturday.    Moscow. 

I  feel  very  discouraged.  Every  one  I  meet  asks 
me  what  I  have  come  to  Moscow  for.  They  as- 
sure   me    there    is    no    chance    of    doing    Lenin, 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         91 

especially  not  Dsirjinsky  who  is  a  recluse.    Never- 
theless, I  have  spent  the  day  getting  everything  in 
order.     Sackfuls  of  bone  dry  clay  have  been  de- 
livered at  my  door.     Five  men  and  one  girl  stood 
inert  and  watched  mc  break  it  up  with  a  crow 
bar.     Finally  I  was  able  to  get  them  all  gone  ex- 
cept one,   a  really  intelligent  carpenter,  who  in- 
stead of  trying  to  talk  to  me,  watched  me  and 
understood  what   I   wanted.      He   was   splendid, 
made  three  armatures  for  me,  and  then  beat  and 
stirred  the  clay  for  three  hours  until  it  was  in 
condition.      When   Kamenev  looked   in,   bringing 
Zinoviev,  I  was  up  to  my  elbows  in  clay,  my  clothes 
were  covered,  and  my  hair  was  standing  on  end. 
Zinoviev  laughed,  and  said  it  was  obvious  I  should 
not  be  ready  for  him  to  sit  to  me  for  days,  but 
I  assured  him  all  would  be  in  order  to-morrow, 
and  added  that  a  man  of  the  carpenter's  intelli- 
gence was  worthy  to  be  a  government  minister. 
Kamenev  repeated  this  to  the  carpenter,  and  then 
said  to  me,  "Here  everything  is  possible."     Before 
leaving  he  gave  me  a  pass  into  the  Kremlin  that 
will  last  until  December,  so  I  am  independent  at 
last,  and  can  go  in   and  out  alone   and  when  I 
please.     I  did  not  come  home  until  I  had  built  up 
two  heads  ready  to  work  on.     I  am  very  tired  but 
full  of  hope,  remembering  what  I  have  heard — 
that  things  come  slowly  in  Russia,  but  they  come. 


92  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

September  26th,  1920.  Sunday.  Moscow. 
I  went  to  church  with  Mr.  Vanderlip.  We 
selected  St.  Saviour's,  the  big  church  beyond  the 
bridge,  which  was  built  with  the  private  money  of 
the  Tsar  as  a  thanksgiving  for  deliverance  from 
Napoleon.  It  has  five  gold  domes  which  are  a 
beacon  to  me  when  I  am  lost  I  A  service  was  going 
on  and  we  mingled  with  the  crowd,  which  had 
an  amazing  preponderance  of  men.  The  richness 
of  the  golden  and  crimson  robed  priests  seemed 
to  throw  into  relief  the  poverty  of  the  people  with 
their  faces  so  full  of  sadness.  What  absurdly 
stupid  things  animate  one's  thoughts  in  the  most 
precious  moments:  for  instance,  when  the  priest 
made  the  sign  of  the  Cross  with  the  three 
branched  candlesticks  in  each  hand,  I  instinctively 
looked  to  see  if  he  had  dropped  candle-grease  on 
the  carpet  (he  had!).  When  the  contribution 
plate  began  to  circulate  I  watched  an  old  peasant 
next  to  me.  He  drew  out  his  pocket  book,  and 
fumbled  for  a  few  roubles,  he  held  fiv^e  of  these 
like  a  cardhand,  and  fingered  them  hesitatingly. 
It  was  obvious  that  he  was  trying  to  make  up  his 
mind  whether  he  could  afford  to  part  with  them 
all,  or  only  with  some  of  them.  In  the  end  he 
put  them  all  into  the  plate,  a  little  act  of  sacrifice 
which  I  am  sure  will  not  pass  unblessed. 

The  choir  singing  without  accompaniment  was 
very  beautiful.     The  masses  seemed  to  be  very 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         93 

fervent,  one  could  see  the  Faith  and  Hope  in  all 
their  faces.  It  is  surely  the  deep  religious  feeling 
in  Russia  that  has  sustained  these  people  through 
all  their  years  of  privation  and  prevented  a 
greater  chaos. 

After  church  I  walked  along  rejoicing  in  the 
sun  and  went  to  the  Tretiakovskaya  gallery,  full 
of  various  schools  of  painting.  Among  the  pic- 
tures is  the  famous  one  of  Ivan  the  Terrible  kill- 
ing his  son,  but  everything  I  saw  was  obliterated 
by  the  memory  of  three  modern  busts,  the  work 
of  Konenoff,  the  sculptor  I  met  at  the  Strogonoff 
school.  These  busts  are  carved  out  of  blocks  of 
wood.  They  are  indescribable  masterpieces,  in 
conception,  composition  and  carving.  I  remained 
for  some  time  in  admiration  and  wonderment  over 
this  modern  work.  I  went  away  after  that  as  I 
could  not  look  at  anything  else. 

At  3  o'clock  I  hurried  to  the  Kremlin  as  Kame- 
nev  had  telephoned  to  me  to  expect  Zinoviev.  I 
waited  until  4  and  then  he  arrived,  busy,  tired 
and  impatient,  his  overcoat  slung  over  his  shoul- 
ders as  he  had  not  had  time  to  put  his  arms 
through  the  sleeves.  He  flung  off  his  hat  and  ran 
his  fingers  through  his  black  curly  hair,  which  al- 
ready was  standing  on  end.  He  sat  restlessly  look- 
ing up  and  down,  round  and  out  and  beyond:  then 
he  read  his  newspaper,  every  now  and  again  flash- 
ing round  an  imperative  look  at  me  to  see  how  it 


94  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

was  getting  on.  He  seemed  to  me  an  extraor- 
dinary mix-up  of  conflicting  personalities.  He  has 
the  eyes  and  brow  of  the  fighting  man,  and  the 
mouth  of  a  petulant  woman. 

Little  by  little  he  became  more  tractable,  and 
when  he  had  finished  reading  we  talked  a  little. 
At  moments  he  threw  his  head  back  and  seemed 
to  be  dreaming.  Then  he  looked  like  a  poet.  He 
is  only  38.  It  is  amazing  how  young  all  these 
revolutionaries  are.  I  gleaned  from  him  the  news 
that  Millerand  is  the  new  President  of  the  French, 
to  which  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said  it 
made  no  difference :  and  that  the  British  strike 
fixed  for  to-morrow  has  been  postponed  for  a 
week.  Before  he  left,  he  said  he  was  pleased  with 
the  start  of  his  bust,  and  that  I  must  do  Lenin. 

I  walked  home  in  face  of  a  lovely  sunset, 
the  fiery  ball  was  reflected  in  the  gold  dome  of  St. 
Saviour's.  I  sang  as  I  walked,  because  I  have 
begun  work  at  last,  but  people  looked  at  me. 
They  nev^er  looked  at  me  before.  I  suppose  it 
was  peculiar  to  hear  any  one  sing. 


September  27TH,  1920.    Monday.     Moscow. 

Things  begin  to  move  more  rapidly  now,  and 
my  patience  is  being  rewarded.  To-day  Dsirjin- 
sky  sat  to  me.  He  is  the  President  of  the  Ex- 
traordinary Commission,  or  as  we  would  call  it  in 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         95 

English,  the  organizer  of  the  Red  Terror.  He 
is  the  man  Kamenev  told  me  so  much  about.  He 
sat  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  quite  still  and  very  si- 
lent. His  eyes  certainly  looked  as  if  they  were 
bathed  in  tears  of  eternal  sorrow,  but  his  mouth 
smiled  an  indulgent  kindness.  His  face  is  nar- 
row, high-cheek-boned  and  sunk  in.  Of  all  his 
features  it  is  his  nose  which  seems  to  have  the  most 
character.  It  is  very  refined,  and  the  delicate 
bloodless  nostrils  suggest  the  sensitiveness  of  over- 
breeding.     He  is  a  Pole  by  origin. 

As  I  worked  and  watched  him  during  that  hour 
and  a  half  he  made  a  curious  impression  on  me. 
Finally  overwhelmed  by  his  quietude,  I  exclaimed : 
"How  wonderful  of  you  to  sit  so  still."  Our 
medium  was  German,  which  made  fluent  conver- 
sation between  us  impossible,  but  he  answered: 
"One  learns  patience  and  calm  in  prison." 

I  asked  how  long  he  was  in  prison.  "A  quarter 
of  my  life,  1 1  years,"  he  answered.  It  was  the 
revolution  that  liberated  him.  Obviously  it  is 
not  the  abstract  desire  for  power  or  for  a  politi- 
cal career  that  has  made  revolutionaries  of  such 
men,  but  fanatical  conviction  of  the  wrongs  to  be 
righted  for  the  cause  of  humanity  and  national 
progress.  For  this  cause  men  of  sensitive  intel- 
lectuality have  endured  years  of  imprisonment. 

Being  Monday  there  is  no  theater,  as  that  is 
the  night  the  artists  have  free   (on  Sundays  they 


96  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

work  for  the  enjoyment  of  the  people) ,  so  I  dined 
with  Mr.  VanderHp  who  told  me  many  things 
which  I  may  not  at  this  juncture  write  down  or 
repeat.  I  have  not  sought  his  confidence,  so  I 
thought  it  rather  unjustifiable  when  at  the  end  of 
the  evening  (having  been  a  sympathetic  listener) 
he  said  to  me:  "You  know  too  much  now,  I  shall 
see  that  you  don't  leave  the  country  before  I  do." 
Although  he  likes  the  people  with  whom  he  has 
come  in  business  contact,  he  is  frankly  a  capital- 
ist, and  glories  in  it.  He  is  like  the  Englishman 
abroad  who  is  conscious  of  being  different  to  every 
one  else,  and  derives  from  it  a  smug  feeling  of 
superiority.  After  dinner  he  was  sent  for  by 
Tchitcherin,  and  I  spent  the  evening  with  Michael 
Borodin. 

Michael  Markovitch,  as  Borodin  is  called,  lives 
in  our  house.  He  is  a  man  with  shaggy  black 
hair  brushed  back  from  his  forehead,  a  trim 
beard,  deep  set  eyes,  and  a  face  like  a  mask.  He 
talks  abrupt  American  English  in  a  bass  voice.  I 
have  not  seen  much  of  him,  as  he  works  half  the 
day  and  all  the  night,  like  the  other  Foreign  Oflice 
officials.  He  is  usually  late  for  meals,  eats  hur- 
riedly, and  leaves  before  we  have  finished.  As 
soon  as  Vanderlip  had  gone  Borodin  switched  out 
all  the  drawing  room  lights  but  one,  that  Vander- 
lip had  put  on.  I  asked  him  why  he  did  this  and 
he  looked  round  the  garish  room  and  gave  a  slight 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         97 

shudder.  "It  is  parvenu,"  he  said,  then  sinking 
back  into  his  chair  he  looked  at  me  intently,  and 
asked,  "What  is  your  economic  position  in  the 
world?"  It  is  the  first  time  he  has  talked  to  me, 
and  I  found  myself  answering  as  if  my  life  de- 
pended on  my  answers!  Happily  no  one  in  this 
country  knows  anything  about  my  family,  bring- 
ing up,  or  surroundings.  I  have  not  got  to  live 
down  my  wasted  years,  I  can  stand  on  my  own 
feet  and  be  accepted  on  my  own  merits.  Borodin 
mystifies  me.  I  cannot  make  out  when  all  his  ques- 
tions have  been  answered  what  he  thinks. 


September  2BT11,  1920.     Tuesday.    Moscow. 

Dsirjinsky  came  at  10  A.  M.  for  an  hour.  He 
is  leaving  Moscow  for  a  fortnight,  so  I  can  get  no 
more  sittings,  but  seeing  how  keen  I  was,  he  stayed 
on  and  on,  doling  out  10  minutes  and  quarter 
hours  as  so  much  fine  gold.  He  sits  so  well  that 
two  sittings  are  worth  four  of  Zinoviev's. 

When  the  Savonarola  of  the  Revolution  left,  I 
felt  a  real  sadness  that  I  may  never  see  him  again. 
Zinoviev  sat  again  in  the  afternoon,  and  brought 
with  him  Bucharin  and  Bela  Kun.  They  seemed 
to  approve  of  Dsirjinsky's  bust,  and  Insisted  on 
looking  through  all  the  photographs  of  my  work. 
The  "Victory"  Is  what  really  interests  them. 

I  was  frightfully  disappointed  In  Bela  Kun.     I 


98  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

had  imagined  a  romantic  figure,  but  he  looks  most 
disreputable.  Bucharin  is  attractive  with  his  neat 
little  beard  and  young  face. 

This  afternoon,  after  all  had  left,  three  soldiers 
brought  a  gilt  Louis  XVI  sofa  and  a  Turkestan 
carpet  to  my  workroom.  These  had  been  ordered 
to  help  to  make  it  more  habitable  and  dispel  the 
severity.  I  had  to  laugh,  the  sofa  looked  so  ab- 
surdly refined  and  out  of  place!  I  wondered 
whose  drawing  room  it  once  furnished,  and  what 
little  tea  time  gossips  it  had  listened  to.  At  that 
moment  a  sculptor  called  Nicholas  Andreef  came 
in  and  introduced  himself  to  me,  sent  by  Kamenev 
and  mercifully  speaking  French.  A  big  man 
with  small  laughing  eyes,  and  a  red-gray  beard, 
typically  Russian.  After  we  had  talked  for  awhile 
he  described  to  me  the  diflSculties  with  which  he 
had  tried  to  do  Lenin  in  his  room,  while  he  was 
working.  He  said  that  portraiture  was  not  Art. 
I  could  but  agree  with  him  as  to  the  difficulty  al- 
ways in  doing  portraits;  that  sittings  are  always 
too  few  and  too  short,  but  that  one  had  to  put 
up  with  it,  and  do  the  best  one  could,  breaking 
one's  heart  over  it  all  the  time. 

He  said  he  had  given  up  sculpture  for  the  time 
being  because  of  the  difficult  conditions,  and  had 
taken  to  drawing  instead.  I  said  that  for  the 
present  I  was  intent  on  portraits,  and  that  Art 
would  have  to  wait  till  later.    His  attitude  is  char- 


V^           1 

1 

■^^^^^^^H 

I            '^r          1 

^^^^^^^^^^^ '  :i     ^^^^^^^^1 

^B  .                          -  ".    -y    i^H 

DSIRJINSKY 

^^^^^^^Mj    i/KBBml^^m 

n 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY         99 

acteristic  of  the  sculptor  species.  They  are  all  so 
d d  proud,  and  if  they  cannot  get  all  the  sit- 
tings they  need  and  work  under  ideal  conditions 
they  do  not  think  it  worth  while  doing.  I  consider 
there  are  a  few  people  in  the  world  who  are  worth 
any  effort  to  do,  even  if  they  do  not  give  one  a 
chance  to  do  one's  best  work.  Andreef  laughed 
and  said  that  was  journalism  in  Art! 

When  I  got  home  I  found  that  the  water  had 
been  heated  for  baths.  This  was  a  great  joy: 
I  had  not  had  one  for  eight  days.  Once  a  week 
is  our  allowance,  and  it  should  be  on  Saturdays, 
but  something  went  wrong  with  the  pipe,  and  we 
have  been  disappointed  each  evening,  so  that  in 
fact  I  had  give,  up  hope.  How  one  has  learned 
to  appreciate  the  most  ordinary  things  that  one 
never  thought  of  being  thankful  for  before.  But 
since  I  have  been  here  I  have  to  wash  in  cold 
water;  nor  am  I  called,  but  I  wake  up  quite 
mechanically  every  morning  at  eight.  It  will  be 
wonderful  to  have  scrambled  eggs  one  day  for 
breakfast,  but  I  am  getting  used  to  just  black 
bread  and  butter,  and  some  mornings  we  have 
cheese. 

I  wonder  a  good  deal  about  my  family  and 
friends.  It  is  so  strange  to  have  left  them  with- 
out a  word,  and  to  get  no  letters  and  not  to  be 
able  to  write  any.  Mamma  especially;  bless  her, 
who  always  says  "good-night"  as  if  it  was  "good- 


loo  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

by-for-ever,"  I  wonder  what  she  feels  about 
my  going  off  without  telHng  her.  I  wonder  if 
Papa  is  anxious  about  me,  or  indifferent  and  re- 
sentful! When  I  think  about  Dick  and  Mar- 
garet I  feel  a  sadness.  I  can  get  on  without  most 
people  in  the  world,  but  not  without  those  two, 
and  they  must  wonder  why  they  do  not  get  letters 
from  me.  It  is  rather  dreadful  to  think  they 
m.ight  believe  my  silence  means  forgetfulness. 

This  evening  we  went  to  the  "Coq  D'or."  I 
thought  I  was  back  in  London  until  I  looked  away 
from  the  stage. 


September  30TH,  1920.     Thursday. 

Kamenev  came  to  see  me  in  the  morning,  his 
watch  in  his  hand,  he  had  20  minutes.  It  was 
paralyzing,  one  cannot  talk  under  those  con- 
ditions. I  confined  myself  to  presenting  him  with 
a  list  of  things  I  want  done!  Small  wonder  he 
comes  so  seldom  to  see  me.  When  he  does  come 
every  one  in  the  house  knows  it,  and  one  by  one 
they  come  to  my  door  and  ask  to  see  him,  each 
wanting  something  of  him,  and  his  car  which 
waits  at  the  door  is  borrowed  for  an  errand.  It 
is  very  discouraging  for  him ! 

Borodin  took  me  to  Prince  Igor  this  evening. 
It  combined  the  opera  with  the  Ballet.  In  the  box 
next  to  us  was  a  party  of  Afghans  and  a  Khorean 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       loi 

with  them.  Down  in  the  stalls  one  man  was  in  a 
smoking  coat  and  evening  shirt,  the  first  I  have 
seen.     He  was  very  conspicuous. 


October  ist,  1920.  Friday.  Moscow. 
Nicholas  Andreef  met  me  at  the  Kremlin  at  i 
o'clock.  Kamenev  had  placed  a  car  at  our  dis- 
posal for  the  afternoon.  We  went  to  several  gal- 
leries, beginning  with  the  Kremlin.  The  Palace 
of  a  Grand  Duchess  (opposite  the  big  bell)  has 
been  converted  into  a  working  people's  club.  It 
was  quite  clean  and  cared  for,  but  only  the  Em- 
pire Swan  furniture  suggested  it  had  ever  been  a 
private  habitation.  We  went  downstairs  to  a 
private  chapel  painted  black  and  gold.  This  had 
been  made  into  a  modeling  school,  and  there  were 
some  very  good  things  being  done  from  life.  The 
Spirit  of  the  Holy  Ghost  descending  as  a  dove 
from  above,  and  the  golden  rays  of  a  carved  sun 
made  a  strange  background.  My  bourgeois  prej- 
udice was  just  for  a  moment  shocked  until  I  re- 
membered that  in  our  own  old  14th  century  Chap- 
el at  home  Papa  typewrites  on  the  altar  step.  If 
has  been  longer  in  disuse  it  is  true,  but  still,  one 
must  be  consistent.  From  there  we  drove  in  the 
car  to  the  house  of  Ostrouckof,  who  showed  me 
his  room  full  of  Ikons,  some  dating  back  to  the 
5th  and  6th  centuries.     One  came  out  of  St.  Sofia. 


102  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

They  are  beautiful  in  design  and  color,  and  most 
interesting  when  he  explained  them  to  me.  Down- 
stairs he  had  a  modern  motley  collection.  He 
showed  us  a  Matisse  given  to  him  by  Matisse 
himself.    It  was  a  curious  contrast  after  Ikons! 

At  9  p.  M.  Kamenev  came  to  see  me  to  hear  how 
I  was  getting  on.  He  stayed  till  ii  which 
was  very  wonderful.  He  had  had  nothing  to  eat 
and  I  procured  some  tea  for  him  and  gave  him 
some  of  the  Crown  Prince's  biscuits,  which  are 
life-saving! ! 

October  2nd,  Saturday.  Moscow. 
Hearing  there  was  a  review  of  troops  in  the 
Red  Square  at  1 1  o'clock,  I  went  off  to  see  what 
I  could  see.  Every  one  else  seemed  busy,  and 
Michael  Markovitch,  whom  I  wanted,  was  not  to 
be  found.  If  he  had  come  with  me  I  would  have 
taken  my  kodak,  but  I  have  not  a  permit,  and  did 
not  feel  like  risking  a  controversy  alone.  Ar- 
rived in  the  Red  Square  I  was  not  allowed  to  get 
anywhere  near,  and  I  did  so  want  to  see  and  hear 
Trotsky  addressing  the  troops.  Soldiers  kept  the 
onlookers  absolutely  out  of  the  square,  and  I  stood 
on  the  steps  of  the  wonderful  church  of  St.  Basil. 
The  soldiers  certainly  were  very  amiable,  when  I 
wandered  rebelliously  from  my  steps  out  into  the 
road,  a  bayonet  was  leveled  smilingly  at  me,  I 
made  a  gesture  of  not  understanding,   and  said 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       103 

helplessly  in  English,  "Where  do  you  want  me  to 
go?"  Whereupon  he  laughed  and  allowed  me  to 
stand  by  his  side.  The  crowd  was  very  quiet  and 
apathetic,  one  certainly  was  not  near  enough  to 
get  excited.  In  the  dim  distance  one  could  hear 
Trotsky's  voice,  punctuated  by  cheers  from  the 
soldiers.  After  awhile  the  crowd  broke  forward 
to  where  I  stood  with  the  soldier,  some  mounted 
detachments  came  towards  us,  very  decorative  in- 
deed with  bright  colored  uniforms  and  lances  with 
fluttering  pennons.  Suddenly  a  man  at  my  side 
said  to  me  in  French:  "Madame — does  this 
please  you?"  I  was  very  glad  to  have  some  one 
to  speak  to.  The  man  was  young,  and  though  ill 
shaved  he  was  well  dressed  in  uniform.  He  could 
speak  German  also,  but  English  he  said  he  had 
forgotten,  though  he  had  at  one  time  spent  three 
months  in  England.  Waving  a  hand  contemptu- 
ously towards  the  scene  before  us,  he  said,  "C'est 
du  theatre,  Madame — that  is  all  it  amounts  to." 
I  ventured  to  say  that  a  theatrical  display  was 
not  much  use  unless  there  were  spectators.  In 
England  I  assured  him  we  had  our  military  page- 
ants for  the  benefit  of  the  people.  What  was  the 
use  of  this  if  we  were  not  allowed  anywhere  near? 
He  replied  that  it  was  a  necessary  precaution  for 
the  protection  of  Trotsky.      I  laughed,  "We  are 

three  gimshots  away,  at  least "     Then  to  my 

amazement  the  man  began  to  discuss  and  criti- 


104  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

cize,  and  talk  what  seemed  to  me  pure  counter- 
revolutionary stuff.  From  all  one  has  ever  heard 
about  Russian  conditions  (Tsariste  as  well  as 
Revolutionary)  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  was 
strangely  indiscreet,  and  I  asked  him:  "Are  you 
not  mad  to  talk  like  this  in  a  crowd?  Any  one 
may  understand  French."  He  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders:    "One  has  lived  so  long  now  side  by  side 

with  death  that  one  has  grown  callous "     He 

then  asked  if  I  would  care  to  go  for  a  walk.  I 
felt  rather  self-conscious  of  walking  away  in 
front  of  the  crowd  with  a  man  whom  they  had 
seen  me  so  obviously  "pick-up."  However  in 
Russia  there  are  no  conventions,  it  was  only  my 
bourgeois  blood  rushing  to  the  surface  again  that 
made  it  seem  peculiar. 

We  went  down  to  the  river  and  leaned  against 
the  railing  and  talked  for  a  long  time.  He  was 
certainly  very  interesting  and  amazingly  indis- 
creet. Happily  I  have  nothing  to  reproach  my- 
self with.  I  adopted  a  perfectly  good  Bolshevik 
point  of  view,  and  argued  in  my  usual  way  about 
wars  and  blockades,  and  urged  him  to  have  imag- 
ination and  look  further  ahead  than  to-day  and 
to-morrow.  Talked  about  idealists,  reviewed  a 
few  Tsariste  items  and  made  comparisons.  But 
everything  I  said  provoked  him  to  further  extreme 
utterances.  He  wished  finally  that  he  might  have 
an  opportunity  of  showing  me  "the  other  side." 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       105 

He  invited  me  to  go  to  a  factory  with  him.  I 
asked  what  use  that  would  be  as  I  cannot  speak 
a  word  of  Russian.  He  said  he  would  like  to 
present  to  me  his  father  and  his  uncle,  but  as 
they  were  both  "known"  he  would  have  to  be 
very  careful.  Finally  we  exchanged  my  name  and 
address  for  his  telephone  number.  He  said  that 
if  I  would  telephone  him  to-morrow,  Sunday, 
night,  he  would  meet  me  outside  my  front  gate  at 
1 1  on  Monday  morning  but  he  would  not  dare  to 
come  into  the  house. 

At  I  o'clock  A.  M.  (I  have  adopted  the  Rus- 
sian habit  of  not  going  to  bed!)  I  saw  Michael 
Markovitch  when  he  returned  from  the  Commis- 
sariat, and  told  him  about  it.  He  said  it  was  the 
queerest  sort  of  counter-revolutionary  he  had  ever 
heard  of,  and  advised  me  to  leave  him  alone. 


October  3RD,  Sunday.  Moscow. 
I  have  been  five  days  out  of  work.  It  seems 
much  longer.  I  am  told  there  are  people  in  Mos- 
cow who  have  been  waiting  6  months  to  accom- 
plish the  business  they  came  for.  Lenin  seems 
to  me  further  away  than  he  did  in  London.  There 
is  nothing  to  do  here  unless  one  has  work.  Never 
could  one  have  imagined  a  world  in  which  there 
is  absolutely  no  social  life,  and  no  shops;  where 
there  are  no  newspapers  (for  me)  and  no  letters 


io6  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

either  to  be  received  or  written.  There  are  no 
meals  to  look  forward  to  and  comfort  cannot  be 
sought  in  a  hot  bath.  When  one  has  seen  all  the 
galleries,  and  they  are  open  only  half  a  day,  and 
some  of  them  not  every  day,  and  when  one  has 
walked  over  cobblestones  until  one's  feet  ache, 
there  is  nothing  to  be  done.  One  must  have  work 
to  do.  Perhaps  I  would  be  calmer  if  I  had  al- 
ready accomplished  Lenin,  but  my  anxiety  is  lest 
I  have  to  wait  weary  weeks.  Return  to  London 
without  his  head  I  cannot.  Michael  took  me  for 
a  walk;  it  was  extremely  cold.  We  went  to  St. 
Basil  as  I  wanted  to  see  it  inside,  but  it  is  locked 
after  3  o'clock.  Outside  it  is  wonderful,  painted 
all  over  in  various  designs  and  colors.  I  cannot 
understand  how  it  stands  the  climate.  Inside  I 
am  told  it  is  not  much  to  see.  Napoleon  stabled 
his  horses  in  it.  One  has  heard  so  much  about 
Bolshevik  outrages,  but  they  have  done  nothing 
like  this.  Napoleon  distinguished  himself  in  sev- 
eral ways  while  he  was  here.  For  instance  he  or- 
dered the  destruction  of  the  beautiful  Spassky 
Gate  of  the  Kremlin,  the  barrels  of  powder  were 
placed  in  position  and  the  matches  were  lit  as  the 
last  of  the  French  rode  out.  The  Cossacks  gal- 
loped up  in  time  to  put  the  matches  out  at  the 
risk  of  their  lives. 

On  our  way  home  we  passed  by  St.  Saviour's 
church    and   looked   in,    really   impelled   to   seek 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       107 

refuge  from  the  cold.  In  a  side  chapel  where  the 
light  was  dim,  a  priest,  with  his  long  hair  and 
beard  and  fine  features,  was  preaching  to  a  con- 
gregation which  sat  fervently  absorbed.  The 
heads  of  the  women  looked  Eastern  in  their  shawl 
swathings.  I  listened  for  some  time  to  the  strange 
musical  tongue,  of  which  I  could  not  understand 
a  word.  The  priest  looked  so  amazingly  like  the 
traditional  pictures  of  Christ  that  I  felt  I  was 
listening  to  the  great  Master  teaching  in  the 
Temple. 


October  4TH,  1920.  Monday.  Moscow. 
When  I  came  down  to  breakfast  at  10  my 
strange  counter-revolutionary  was  sitting  in  the 
hall.  How  he  ever  got  there  or  why  he  came  as  I 
had  not  telephoned  him,  I  shall  never  understand. 
I  expressed  my  astonishment  and  told  him  I  was 
sorry  I  could  not  go  out  with  him,  as  I  had  some 
one  coming  to  see  me.  I  promised  to  telephone 
him  later.  He  seemed  a  little  disappointed,  said 
he  was  "entierement  a  ynon  service"  and  departed. 
In  the  dining-room  I  found  Michael  breakfasting 
and  told  him,  and  he  got  up  quickly  to  see,  but  I 
laughed  and  said  that  naturally  I  had  sent  him 
away  before  telling  any  one  he  was  there.  Michael 
looked  at  me  with  a  cold  look  in  his  eyes.  He  is 
like  the  others;  one  feels  instinctively  that  how- 


io8  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

ever  much  they  may  like  one  as  a  woman,  they 
would  sacrifice  one  in  a  minute  if  it  was  necessary 
for  the  cause. 

At  lunch  time  H.  G.  Wells  arrived  from  Petro- 
grad,  with  his  son.  They  are  lodged  in  our  house. 
It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  find  an  old  friend  and 
to  be  able  to  talk  of  things  and  people  familiar  to 
us.  He  was  as  usual  laughing  and  extremely  hu- 
morous about  the  condition  of  life  in  Petrograd. 
On  his  account  we  were  a  big  party  for  lunch,  and 
there  was  an  effort  to  make  a  spread,  but  this  was 
frustrated  by  Michael  Borodin.  When  I  asked 
for  some  of  the  beautiful  apple  cake  I  had  seen 
on  the  side  table,  Michael  made  grimaces  at  me. 
He  had  sent  it  back  to  the  kitchen.  The  perfect 
Communist  in  him  revolted  against  the  inequality 
of  H.  G.  having  a  special  cake,  considering  neither 
Vanderlip  nor  Sheridan  had  one  on  their  arrival! 
The  household  call  me  Sheridan,  like  a  man.  One 
has  quite  lost  the  habit  of  prefixing  Mr.  and  Mrs., 
in  fact  one  cannot  do  it;  it  sounds  so  absurd  and 
affected.  I  have  not  yet  been  honored  to  the  ex- 
tent of  being  called  Tovarisch  (Comrad),  but 
some  people  call  me  Clara  Mortonovna  (Clare, 
daughter  of  Moreton). 

After  lunch  I  went  for  a  walk  with  Michael; 
he  had  tiptoed  out  of  the  room  at  lunch  time  and 
I  asked  him  why.  He  was  not  very  communi- 
cative, said  he  hated  people  collectively  and  he 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       109 

disliked  H.  G.  though  for  no  reason  that  I  could 
make  out.  I  sat  far  into  the  night,  first  with 
Michael,  then  with  Vanderlip  and  finally  with 
H.  G. 

We  compared  notes  as  to  Petrograd  and  Mos- 
cow conditions.  He  said:  "You  and  I  do  not 
clash.  You  are  Moscow  and  I  am  Petrograd;  it 
is  like  two  different  countries."  But  Russian  hab- 
its are  the  same  all  the  world  over.  We  com- 
pared notes  and  laughed  a  good  deal  over  the 
ways  of  life  that  we  both  experience.  There  is 
no  privacy  in  Russian  life;  their  rooms  are  like  a 
railway  station.  There  is  not  an  hour  of  the  day 
or  night  that  people  do  not  visit  each  other.  What 
I  experienced  at  the  Kamenevs'  he  also  went 
through  at  the  Gorkis',  They  sit  up  and  talk  till 
the  small  hours,  eating  and  smoking  till  the  at- 
mosphere is  thick,  and  then  some  one  makes  up  a 
bed  on  the  sofa  in  that  room  and  sleeps!  People 
come  into  one's  room  and  talk  while  one  is  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed  pulling  on  one's  stockings. 
It  is  a  condition  of  things  that  makes  for  great 
morality! 

H.  G.  talked  to  me  a  good  deal  about  a 
Madame  Benckendorff,  a  widow,  who  lives  with 
the  Gorkis  and  who  Is  doing  interpreter  for  him 
while  he  is  there.  I  have  heard  of  her  from  oth- 
ers. I  hear  she  is  a  very  beautiful  and  attractive 
woman.     She  has  twice  been  imprisoned  by  the 


no  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

Bolsheviks,  and  is  not  allowed  out  of  the  country, 
even  to  Esthonia,  where  her  children  are.  Never- 
theless, she  told  H.  G.  that  she  was  happier  now 
than  in  the  old  prosperous  days  before  the  Revolu- 
tion, because  now  life  is  more  interesting  and  real ! 

I  can  think  of  a  good  many  women  whose  lives 
might  be  considerably  shaken  up  by  the  present 
condition  of  things,  but  I  don't  know  if  they 
would  like  it!  Personally  I  prefer  my  life  with  all 
its  struggles  and  its  uncertainties  since  everything 
crashed  for  me,  than  the  days  of  peaceful  home 
protection  and  inactivity. 

There  is  in  Moscow  a  very  charming  little 
Madame  Protopotoff,  whose  family  used  to  be 
very  rich.  They  had  the  great  bell  foundry  and 
ikon  factory.  She  has  just  succeeded  in  getting  a 
job  at  the  Commissariat  for  Foreign  Affairs.  A 
'  knowledge  of  French  and  German  has  made  her- 
invaluable  in  the  translating  department.  For  this 
work  she  gets  not  only  a  wage,  but  a  food  ration 
for  herself  and  her  mother  and  her  child.  She 
did  not  complain  to  me  about  having  to  work,  but 
said  it  was  interesting  to  watch  the  reconstruction 
that  is  going  on.  These  are  certainly  wonderful 
days  to  be  living  in,  and  I  think  that  many  Rus- 
sians who  might  have  escaped  have  remained,  to 
work  not  for  the  Bolshevik  system,  but  for  Rus- 
sia. I  have  met  a  good  many  who  say  they  could 
not  abandon  their  Russia  in  this  hour  of  agony — 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       in 

and  others  with  such  Russian  hearts  that  they 
could  not  bear  to  miss  their  Russian  winter  for  a 
life  of  less  hardship  in  an  alien  clime.  These  are 
the  people  to  whom  one  should  take  off  one's  hat. 
H.  G.  of  course  deplores  the  discomforts  and 
the  unnecessary  lack  of  privacy.  He  says  he 
simply  could  do  no  work  under  these  conditions. 
To  him  are  absolutely  necessary  the  morning  bath, 
the  daily  papers,  the  quiet  breakfast,  and  the  lei- 
sure and  the  peace  that  are  required  to  get  through 
one's  correspondence.  Of  course  here  one  has 
neither  papers  nor  correspondence,  and  that  ought 
to  give  the  leisure  to  think!  But  if  one  is 
so  constituted  that  one  cannot  work  without  the 
start  of  a  hot  bath  it  is  lamentable  to  be  in  Rus- 
sia !  Oh,  H.  G. — dear  H.  G. !  I  am  very  de- 
voted to  you,  but  you  sadly  need  shaking  out  of 
your  habits. 

October  5Th,  Moscow. 
H.  G.  had  an  hour's  interview  with  Lenin.  He 
told  me  he  was  impressed  by  the  man  and  liked 
him,  Lenin  apparently  told  him  all  about  the  Van- 
derlip  business,  the  Kamschatka  concessions  and 
the  Alliance  against  Japan.  This  will  greatly  upset 
Vanderlip,  who  did  not  want  the  news  to  leave  the 
country  until  he  did.  But  I  suppose  Lenin's  in- 
discretion is  the  indiscretion  of  purpose.  H.  G. 
talked  to  me  at  some  length  about  the  advisability 


112  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

of  my  going  home.  He  too  is  discouraging  about 
my  prospects  of  doing  Lenin  or  Trotsky.  He 
says  that  Kamenev  has  "let  me  down"  badly.  I 
could  only  say  in  Kamenev's  defense  that  he  has 
not  "let  me  down"  yet.  But  H.  G.  had  something 
else  in  the  back  of  his  head  that  he  did  not  tell 
■ — I  gathered  he  thinks  there  will  be  trouble  here 
in  a  few  weeks.  What  the  conditions  are  in 
Petrograd  I  do  not  know,  but  here  one  feels  as 
safe  as  a  mountain  and  as  immovable.  H.  G. 
may  learn  a  lot  of  facts  about  schools  and  fac- 
tories, and  things,  but  it  is  only  by  living  a  life  of 
dull  routine  and  work,  even  of  patient  inactivity 
and  waiting,  that  one  absorbs  the  atmosphere. 
Inactivity  is  forced  upon  me,  I  have  to  wait.  I  am 
waiting  neither  patiently  nor  calmly  it  is  true,  but 
all  the  while  I  realize  that  I  am  gaining  something 
and  that  some  understanding  is  subconsciously 
flowing  to  me.  I  see  no  danger  signals.  A  winter 
of  hardship  and  sacrifice  for  these  people,  yes,  but 
no  disorder.  The  machine  is  slowly,  very  slowly, 
working  w^th  more  competence,  and  freedom.  Of 
course  one  dislikes  cold  baths  in  cold  weather, 
and  bad  food  and  all  the  discomforts  to  which  a 
pampered  life  has  made  one  unaccustomed,  but 
these  need  not  blight  one's  outlook.  They  are 
not  necessarily  indicative  of  a  disruption. 

After  the  Ballet  "Sadko"  I  walked  home  with 
Michael,  we  had  supper  together  of  cabbage  soup 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       113 

and  tepid  rice,  and  talked  until  2  A.  M.  Michael 
always  says  the  food  is  eatable  even  if  it  is  not. 
He  never  complains,  he  just  pretends  to  eat  it; 
sometimes  I  see  his  pretense!  This  evening  he 
talked  to  me  about  my  work.  He  wants  me  to 
think  about  a  Statue  interpreting  the  Soviet  idea, 
and  told  me  a  good  deal  about  the  Third  Inter- 
national, as  representing  a  world  brotherhood  of 
workers.  The  plan  of  the  Third  International  is 
very  fine:  "Workmen  of  the  world  unite" — if 
they  did  unite  they  could  hold  the  peace  of  the 
world  for  ever — but  unity  is  hard  to  attain.  I 
wonder  if  it  is  not  unattainable.  Everything  that 
one  hears  and  sees  here  stirs  the  imagination — 
my  mind  is  seething  with  allegories  with  which  to 
express  them,  but  they  are  so  big"  I  should  have  to 
settle  for  life  on  the  side  of  a  mountain  and  hew 
out  my  allegories  from  the  mountain-side.  This 
night  in  his  big  Gothic  room  I  paced  back  and 
forth,  my  arm  through  Michael's,  talking  ab- 
stractedly, until  his  calmness  calmed  me.  He 
knows  that  I  have  been  going  through  a  period  of 
waiting,  not  unmixed  with  despair  and  anxiety.  I 
understand  so  little  about  the  Russian  tempera- 
ment and  hear  such  conflicting  reports  that  it  is 
difl'icult  to  know  what  to  expect.  He  has  en- 
couraged and  cheered  and  tolerated  me.  He  re- 
minds me  sometimes  of  Munthe,*  in  his  adhesion 

•  Axel  Munthe.     San  Michele.     Anacari,  Italy. 


114  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

to  his  convictions,  and  his  demand  that  one  should 
live  up  to  one's  idealism. 

October  6th,  1920.     Wednesday.     Moscow. 

Spent  the  morning  darning  my  stockings,  and 
Mr.  Vanderlip  reading  Rupert  Brooke  out  loud.  I 
was  depressed  to  the  point  of  resignation.  It  is  al- 
ways blackest  before  dawn;  at  2  o'clock  the  Com- 
mandant of  the  house  walked  in  with  a  telephone 
message:  "Greetings  from  Comrad  Kamenev  and 
all  is  prepared  for  you  to  go  and  do  Lenin  in  his 
room  to-morrow  from  1 1  till  4." 

It  was  marvelous  news.  I  went  directly  to  the 
Kremlin  with  Humphries  *  and  on  our  way  we 
talked  about  Wells  and  the  Lenin  interview,  and 
the  effect  it  would  have  on  Vanderlip  when  he 
heard  about  it.  I  asked  why  Lenin  had  told 
about  it,  considering  Vanderlip's  business  was  sup- 
posed to  be  such  a  secret,  and  H.  (who  had  been 
present  at  the  interview)  said  that  Rothstein 
(who  was  also  present)  had  interposed  In  Rus- 
sian, and  asked  Lenin  if  he  was  not  being  Indis- 
creet. Lenin  simply  said  that  he  was  not  and 
went  on!  I  can  imagine  the  futility  of  question- 
ing Lenin  as  to  whether  he  is  doing  the  right 
thing!  Lenin  always  knows  what  he  Is  doing. 
No  one  Is  more  deliberate. 

*  Humphries,  American   Communist  attached  to  Tchitcherin's 
office. 


'# 


^ 


LliNlX 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       115 

With  Humphries'  help  I  got  my  stands  and  clay 
moved  from  my  studio  to  Lenin's  room.  I  hap- 
pily had  him  built  up,  ready  to  work  on  as  soon 
as  the  order  should  come, 

October  7TH,  Thursday.     Moscow. 

Michael  Borodin  accompanied  me  to  the  Krem- 
lin. On  the  way  he  said  to  me:  "Just  remember 
that  you  arc  going  to  do  the  best  bit  of  work  to- 
day that  you  have  ever  done."  I  was  rather 
anxious  about  the  conditions  of  the  room  and  the 
light. 

We  went  In  by  a  special  door,  guarded  by  a 
sentry,  and  on  the  third  floor  we  went  through 
several  doors  and  passages,  each  guarded.  As  I 
was  expected,  the  sentries  had  received  orders  to 
let  me  pass.  Finally,  we  went  through  two  rooms 
full  of  women  secretaries.  The  last  room  con- 
tains about  five  women  at  five  tables,  and  they 
all  looked  at  me  curiously,  but  they  knew  my 
errand.  Here  Michael  handed  me  over  to  a  little 
hunchback,  Lenin's  private  secretary,  and  left  me. 
She  pointed  to  a  white  baize  door  and  I  went 
through.  It  did  not  latch,  but  merely  swung  be- 
hind me. 

Lenin  was  sitting  at  his  desk.  He  rose  and 
came  across  the  room  to  greet  me.  He  has  a 
genial  manner  and  a  kindly  smile  which  puts  one 
instantly  at  ease.     He  said  he  had  heard  of  me 


ii6  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

from  Kamenev.  I  apologized  for  having  to 
bother  him.  He  laughed  and  explained  that  the 
last  sculptor  had  occupied  his  room  for  weeks, 
and  that  he  got  so  bored  with  it  that  he  had  sworn 
it  never  should  happen  again.  He  asked  how 
long  I  needed,  and  offered  me  to-day  and  to-mor- 
row from  1 1  till  4,  and  three  or  four  eve- 
nings, if  I  could  work  by  electric  light.  When  I 
told  him  I  worked  quickly  and  should  probably 
not  require  so  much,  he  said  laughingly  that  he 
was  pleased. 

My  stand  and  things  were  then  brought  into 
the  room  by  three  soldiers,  and  I  established  my- 
self on  his  left.  It  was  hard  work  for  he  was 
lower  than  the  clay  and  did  not  revolve,  nor  did 
he  keep  still.  But  the  room  was  so  peaceful  and 
he  on  the  whole  took  so  little  notice  of  me  that  I 
worked  with  great  calm  till  3  :45  without  stopping 
for  rest  or  food. 

During  that  time  he  had  but  one  interview,  but 
the  telephone  was  of  great  assistance  to  me. 
When  the  low  buzz  accompanied  by  the  lighting 
up  of  a  small  electric  bulb  signified  a  telephone 
call,  his  face  lost  the  dullness  of  repose  and  be- 
came animated  and  interesting.  He  gesticulated 
to  the  telephone  as  though  it  understood. 

I  remarked  on  the  comparative  stillness  of  his 
room,  and  he  laughed.  "Wait  till  there  is  a  po- 
litical discussion!"  he  said. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       117 

Secretaries  came  in  at  intervals  with  letters. 
He  opened  them,  signed  the  empty  envelope,  and 
gave  it  back,  a  form  of  receipt  I  suppose.  Some 
papers  were  brought  him  to  sign  and  he  signed, 
but  whilst  looking  at  something  else  instead  of 
his  signature. 

I  asked  him  why  he  had  women  secretaries.  He 
said  because  all  the  men  were  at  the  war,  and  that 
caused  us  to  talk  of  Poland.  I  understood  that 
peace  with  Poland  had  been  signed  yesterday, 
but  he  says  *'No,"  that  forces  are  at  work  trying 
to  upset  the  negotiations,  and  that  the  position  is 
very  grave. 

"Besides,"  he  said,  "when  we  have  settled 
Poland  we  have  got  Wrangel."  I  asked  if  Wran- 
gel  was  negligible,  and  he  said  that  Wrangel 
counted  quite  a  bit,  which  is  a  different  attitude 
from  that  adopted  by  the  other  Russians  I  have 
met,  who  have  laughed  scornfully  at  the  idea  of 
Wrangel. 

We  talked  about  H.  G.  (Wells)  and  he  said 
the  only  book  of  his  he  had  read  was  "Joan 
and  Peter,"  but  that  he  had  not  read  it  to  the  end. 
He  liked  the  description  at  the  beginning  of  the 
English  intellectual  bourgeois  life.  He  admitted 
that  he  should  have  read,  and  regretted  not  hav- 
ing read  some  of  the  earlier  fantastic  novels  about 
wars  in  the  air,  and  the  world  set  free.  I  am  told 
that  I.cnin  manages  to  get  through  a  good  deal  of 


ii8  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

reading.  On  his  desk  was  a  volume  by  Chiozza 
Money.  He  asked  me  if  I  had  had  any  trouble 
in  getting  through  to  his  room,  and  I  explained 
that  Borodin  had  accompanied  me.  I  then  had 
the  face  to  suggest  that  Borodin,  being  an  ex- 
tremely intelligent  man,  who  can  speak  good  Eng- 
lish, would  make  a  good  Ambassador  to  England 
when  there  is  Peace.  Lenin  looked  at  me  with  the 
most  amused  expression.  His  eyes  seemed  to  see 
right  through  me.     He  then  said:     "That  would 

please  Monsieur  Churchill!  wouldn't  it ?"     I 

asked  if  Winston  was  the  most  hated  Englishman. 
He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  then  added  some- 
thing about  Churchill  being  the  man  with  all  the 
force  of  the  capitalists  behind  him.  We  argued 
about  that,  but  he  did  not  want  to  hear  my 
opinion,  his  own  being  quite  unshakable.  He 
talked  about  Winston  being  my  cousin.  I  said 
rather  apologetically  that  I  could  not  help  it,  and 
hastily  informed  him  that  I  had  another  cousin 
who  was  a  Sinn  Felner.  He  laughed,  and  said 
"that  must  be  a  cheerful  party  when  you  three  get 
together."  I  suppose  it  would  be  cheerful,  but 
we  have  never  all  three  been  together! 

During  these  four  hours  he  never  smoked,  and 
never  even  drank  a  cup  of  tea.  I  have  never 
worked  so  long  on  end  before,  and  at  3  145  I  could 
hold  out  no  longer.  I  was  blind  with  weariness, 
and  hunger,  and  said  good-by.     He  promised  to 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       119 

sit  on  the  revolving  stand  to-morrow.  If  all  goes 
well,  I  think  I  ought  to  be  able  to  finish  him.  I 
do  hope  it  is  good,  I  think  it  looks  more  like  him 
than  any  of  the  busts  I  have  seen  yet.  He  has  a 
curious  Slav  face,  and  how  ill  he  looks. 

When  I  asked  for  news  of  England  he  offered 
me  the  three  latest  Daily  Heralds  he  had,  dated 
September  21,  22,  and  23.  I  brought  them  back 
and  we  all  fell  upon  them, — Russians  and  Amer- 
icans alike.  As  for  me  I  have  spent  a  blissful 
evening  reading  the  Irish  Rebellion  and  the  Min- 
ers' Dispute,  as  if  it  were  yesterday's  news. 
Goodness,  one  feels  as  though  one  had  looked 
through  a  window  and  seen  home  on  the  horizon. 

How  tired  I  was,  and  I  had  eaten  nothing  from 
10  A.  M.  and  dinner  was  not  until  9  P.  M.  In  be- 
tween I  ate  some  of  my  English  biscuits. 


October  8th,  Friday.    Moscow. 

Started  work  again  in  Lenin's  room.  I  went  by 
myself  this  time,  and  got  past  all  the  sentries  with 
the  pass  that  I  had  been  given.  I  took  my  kodak 
with  me,  although  I  had  not  the  necessary  kodak 
permission.  I  put  a  coat  over  my  arm  which 
hid  it. 

I  don't  know  how  I  got  through  my  day.  I 
had  to  work  on  him  from  afar.  My  real  chance 
came  when  a  Comrad  arrived  for  an  interview, 


I20  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

and  then  for  the  first  time  Lenin  sat  and  talked 
facing  the  window,  so  I  was  able  to  see  his  full 
face  and  In  a  good  light. 

The  Comrad  remained  a  long  time,  and  conver- 
sation was  very  animated.  Never  did  I  see  any 
one  make  so  many  faces.  Lenin  laughed  and 
frowned,  and  looked  thoughtful,  sad,  and  humor- 
ous all  In  turn.  His  eyebrows  twitched,  sometimes 
they  went  right  up,  and  then  again  they  puckered 
together  maliciously. 

I  watched  these  expressions,  waited,  hesitated, 
and  then  made  my  selection  with  frantic  rush — It 
was  his  screwed  up  look.  Wonderful!  No  one 
else  has  such  a  look;  It  Is  his  alone.  Every  now 
and  then  he  seemed  to  be  conscious  of  my  pres- 
ence, and  gave  a  piercing  enigmatical  look  in  my 
direction.  If  I  had  been  a  spy  pretending  not  to 
understand  Russian,  I  wonder  whether  I  should 
have  learnt  interesting  things.  The  Comrad, 
when  he  left  the  room,  stopped  and  looked  at  my 
work,  and  said  the  only  word  that  I  understand 
which  is  "carascho"  (It  means  "good"),  and  then 
said  something  about  my  having  the  character  of 
the  man,  so  I  was  glad. 

After  that  Lenin  consented  to  sit  on  the  re- 
volving stand.  It  seemed  to  amuse  him  very 
much.  He  said  he  never  had  sat  so  high.  When 
I  kneeled  down  to  look  at  the  planes  from  below, 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       121 

his  face  adopted  an  expression  of  surprise  and 
embarrassment. 

I  laughed  and  asked,  "Are  you  unaccustomed 
to  this  attitude  in  woman?"  At  that  moment  a 
secretary  came  in,  and  I  cannot  think  why  they 
both  were  so  amused.  They  talked  rapid  Russian 
together,  and  laughed  a  good  deal. 

When  the  secretary  had  gone  he  became  seri- 
ous and  asked  me  a  few  questions.  Did  I  work 
hard  in  London?  I  said  it  was  my  life.  How 
many  hours  a  day?  An  average  of  seven.  He 
made  no  comment  on  this,  but  it  seemed  to  satisfy 
him.  Until  then  I  had  the  feeling  that  although 
he  was  charming  to  me,  he  looked  upon  me  a 
little  resentfully  as  a  bourgeoise.  I  believe  he 
always  asks  people,  if  he  does  not  know  them, 
about  their  work  and  their  origin,  and  makes  up 
his  mind  about  them  accordingly.  I  showed  him 
photographs  of  some  of  my  busts  and  also  of 
"Victory."  He  was  emphatic  in  not  liking  the 
"Victory,"  his  point  being  that  I  had  made  it  too 
beautiful. 

I  protested  that  the  sacrifice  involved  made  vic- 
tory beautiful,  but  he  would  not  agree.  "That 
is  the  fault  of  bourgeois  art,  it  always  beautifies." 

I  looked  at  him  fiercely.  "Do  you  accuse  me 
of  bourgeois  art?" 

"I  accuse  you,"  he  answered,  then  held  up  the 
photograph  of  Dick's  bust,  "I  do  not  accuse  you 


122  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

of  embellishing  this,  but  I  pray  you  don't  em- 
bellish me." 

He  then  looked  at  Winston.  "Is  that  Church- 
ill himself?  You  have  embellished  him."  He 
seemed  to  have  this  on  the  brain. 

I  said:  "Give  me  a  message  to  take  back  to 
Winston." 

He  answered:  "I  have  already  sent  him  a  mes- 
sage through  the  Delegation,  and  he  answered  it 
not  directly,  but  through  a  bitter  newspaper  ar- 
ticle, in  which  he  said  I  was  a  most  horrible  crea- 
ture, and  that  our  army  was  an  army  of  'puces.' 
How  you  say  puces  in  English?  You  know  the 
French  'puces'  ?  Yes  that  is  it — an  army  of  fleas. 
I  did  not  mind  what  he  said;  I  was  glad.  It 
showed  that  my  message  to  him  had  angered 
him." 

"When  will  Peace  come  to  Russia?  Will  a 
General  Election  bring  it?"  I  asked. 

He  said,  "There  is  no  further  news  of  a  Gen- 
eral Election,  but  if  Lloyd  George  asks  for  an 
Election  it  will  be  on  anti-Bolshevism,  and  he  may 
win.  The  capitalists,  the  Court  and  the  Military, 
all  are  behind  him  and  Churchill." 

I  asked  him  if  he  were  not  mistaken  in  his  esti- 
mate of  the  power  and  popularity  of  Winston 
and  the  importance  and  influence  of  the  court. 

He  got  fiery.  "It  is  an  intellectual  bourgeois 
pose  to  say  that  the  King  does  not  count.     He 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       123 

counts  very  much.  He  is  the  head  of  the  Army. 
He  is  the  bourgeois  figure-head,  and  he  represents 
a  great  deal,  and  Churchill  is  backed  by  him."  He 
was  so  insistent,  so  assured,  so  fierce  about  it  that 
I  gave  up  the  argument. 

Presently  he  said  to  me:  "What  does  your 
husband  think  of  your  coming  to  Russia?" 

I  replied  that  my  husband  was  killed  in  the 
war. 

"In  the  capitalist  Imperialist  war?" 

I  said:     "In  France,  1915;  what  other  war?" 

"Ah,  that  is  true,"  he  said.  "We  have  had 
so  many, — the  Imperialist,  the  civil  war,  and  the 
war  for  self-defense." 

We  then  discussed  the  wonderful  spirit  of  self- 
sacrifice  and  patriotism  with  which  England  en- 
tered upon  the  war  in  19 14,  and  he  wanted  me 
to  read  "Le  feu"  and  "Clarte"  of  Barbusse,  in 
which  that  spirit  and  its  development  is  so  won- 
derfully described. 

Then  the  telephone  gave  its  damnable  low  buz- 
zing. He  looked  at  his  watch.  He  had  promised 
me  fifteen  minutes  on  the  revolving  stand  and  had 
given  me  half  an  hour.  He  got  down  and  went 
to  the  telephone.  It  did  not  matter:  I  had  done 
all  I  could.  I  had  verified  my  measurements,  and 
they  were  correct  which  was  a  relief,  and  so,  it 
being  4  o'clock  and  I  mighty  hungry,  I  said 
good-by. 


124  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

He  was  very  pleased,  said  I  had  worked  very 
quickly,  called  in  his  secretary  and  discussed  it 
with  her,  said  it  was  "carascho."  I  asked  him 
to  give  orders  to  have  it  removed  to  my  studio, 
Room  31.  Two  soldiers  arrived  and  carried  it 
out.  I  asked  Lenin  for  his  photograph,  which  he 
sent  for  and  signed  for  me. 

I  hurried  after  the  two  panting  soldiers  with 
their  load.  We  passed  through  the  rooms  of  the 
astonished  secretaries  out  into  the  corridors,  past 
the  bored  and  surprised  sentries,  and  got  through 
to  the  main  building.  Two  or  three  times  they 
had  to  pause  and  deposit  Lenin  on  the  floor,  to 
the  interest  of  the  passers  by.  At  last  he  was 
safely  in  Room  31,  and  they  returned  to  Lenin's 
room  for  the  stands.  It  was  a  good  long  way 
and  they  were  tired  and  dripping  with  sweat  when 
their  job  was  done. 

To  my  intense  embarrassment  they  refused 
money,  though  I  offered  them  stacks  of  paper 
notes.  They  refused  very  amiably,  but  firmly.  I 
made  signs  of  imploration,  and  signs  of  secrecy, 
but  they  laughed  and  just  pointed  to  their  com- 
munist badges,  and  offered  me  their  cigarettes, 
which  were  precious,  being  rationed. 

At  4,  Kamenev  walked  in,  v^ery  surprised  at 
Lenin  being  finished  and  already  back  in  my  room. 
He  had  come  in  from  a  conference  next  door. 
He   went  back  and   fetched   in   the   Conference; 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       12; 

eight  or  more  men  came  In,  some  with  interesting 
heads,  others  just  ordinary  looking  workmen. 

They  all  talked  at  once.  One  was  Kalinin, 
whom  I  had  seen  in  Lenin's  room  at  an  interview. 
Kalinin  is  the  President  of  the  Republic,  and  is  a 
peasant  elected  by  the  peasants.  He  was  charm- 
ing and  promises  to  sit  for  me,  but  is  off  to  the 
front  to-night  for  ten  days,  and  offered  to  take 
me  with  him.  He  told  Kamenev  that  I  worked 
so  rapidly  I  could  find  some  interesting  heads 
there  to  do,  especially  General  Budienny. 

I  said  I  thought  it  would  be  wonderful  to  do 
this  work  within  sound  of  the  guns.  Kamenev 
promised  to  ring  me  at  9  o'clock  to  tell  me  if  I 
was  to  start  at  10.  Alas!  it  turned  out  to  be  a 
troop  train  and  not  possible  for  a  woman. 


October  qth,  1920. 
Started  off  in  a  motor  with  Mr.  Vanderlip  and 
some  one  from  the  Foreign  Office,  We  went  to  a 
textile  factory,  a  huge  place  and  pronounced  by 
Mr.  Vanderlip  to  have  the  best  and  latest  ma- 
chinery, but  there  were  240  workers  where  there 
had  been  2500,  and  there  were  acres  of  machinery 
lying  idle,  the  reason  being  lack  of  fuel.  Mr. 
Vanderlip  said  that  50  experienced  American 
workers  could  have  done  the  work  of  those  240. 
It  is  true  there  was  a  good  deal  of  idling  going  on. 


126  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

This  may  have  been  due  either  to  lack  of  suf- 
ficient work,  or  to  the  Communist  system  by  which 
each  man  or  woman  is  as  good  as  another,  and 
there  is  none  to  boss.  But  what  had  been  done 
was  well  done. 

From  there  we  went  to  one  of  the  big  fur  stores 
which  before  the  revolutions  belonged  to  a  private 
firm,  but  to-day  is  the  property  of  the  Govern- 
ment. There  were  rooms  full  of  huge  hampers 
packed  with  sable  skins  for  export,  and  of  course 
as  I  was  the  only  woman  present  they  dangled 
bunches  of  sable  skins  before  me.  Now  sables 
don't  say  much  to  me  if  they  are  not  made  up, 
but  silver  foxes  are  different,  and  they  cruelly  put 
round  my  neck  some  silver  foxes 


October  ioth,  Sunday. 
Kamenev  came  at  midday  to  say  good-by  to 
me.  He  is  off  to  the  front  to-morrow  for  an  in- 
definite time.  He  brought  with  him  a  young  man 
with  close-cropped  hair,  and  clear-cut  features, 
calling  himself  Alexandre.  Kamenev  thinks  Al- 
exandre may  be  able  to  take  care  of  me  during 
his  absence.  I  certainly  need  some  one,  as  Mi- 
chael Borodin  goes  to  Madrid  on  Tuesday,  and 
then  what  will  become  of  me !  Kamenev  dis- 
cussed with  me  about  the  Government  buying  the 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       127 

Russian  copyright  of  my  heads.  He  then  asked 
mc  to  make  a  list  of  the  things  I  wanted  and  that 
he  could  do  for  me  before  he  goes.  I  had  several 
wants;  for  one  thing  I  am  extremely  cold.  The 
coat  I  arrived  in  is  only  cloth — now  there  is  snow 
on  the  ground  and  the  river  begins  to  freeze.  I 
have  to  wrap  my  rug  round  my  shoulders  when 
I  go  out.  The  peasants  are  far  better  off.  They 
have  all  appeared  in  sheepskin  coats.  The  fur 
they  wear  inside  and  the  leather,  which  is  usually 
stained  deep  orange,  or  rust  color,  is  a  very  dec- 
orative exterior.  The  bourgeois  women  have 
brought  out  their  former  remains  of  splendor  and 
although  they  may  have  only  felt  or  canvas  shoes 
on  their  feet,  and  a  shawl  over  their  heads,  some 
of  them  wear  coats  that  one  would  turn  round 
to  look  at  in  Bond  Street.  I  headed  my  list  of 
requirements  with  the  request  for  a  coat — as  well 
as  caviare,  Trotsky,  and  a  soldier  of  the  Red 
Army  whom  I  want  to  model.  Trotsky  is  ex- 
pected back  from  the  front  in  a  few  days.  It  is  a 
bore  that  Kamenev  is  going  away,  but  Alexandre 
promised  to  arrange  sittings  for  me. 


October  iith,  1920. 
In  the  morning  I  accompanied  Michael  Borodin 
to  the  headquarters  of  the  Third  International.   It 


128  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

is  a  beautiful  house,  formerly  the  German  Em- 
bassy, and  where  Mirbach  was  murdered. 

I  came  away  in  a  car  with  Madame  Balabanoff, 
whom  I  had  often  heard  of.  She  is  small,  past 
middle  age,  crumpled  up  face,  but  intelligent.  I 
did  not  find  her  any  too  amiable  on  our  way  to  the 
Kremlin,  where  she  dropped  me. 

She  told  me  that  it  was  absurd  that  any  bust 
of  Lenin  or  any  one  else  should  be  done,  her 
theory  being  that  the  cause  not  the  individuals 
should  count.  The  humblest  person  who  suffers 
privation  for  the  cause  is  equally  as  important  as 
any  of  the  legislators,  she  explained,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  assure  me  that  no  picture  or  bust  of  her- 
self existed,  nor  ever  should.  Happily  I  had  not 
asked  her  to  sit  for  me.  She  practically  told  me 
that  I  was  doing  Lenin's  head  to  take  back  to 
England  to  show  to  the  idle  curious.  I  corrected 
her  by  saying  that,  so  far  as  the  public  was  con- 
cerned, I  only  wished  to  substitute  a  bust  for  those 
who  had  him  at  present  represented  by  a  photo- 
graph. She  was  equally  vehement  about  the  pho- 
tograph. Perhaps  she  expects  to  alter  human 
nature. 

Before  I  got  out  of  the  car,  she  assured  me 
that  her  tirade  was  in  no  way  personal  and  would 
I,  please,  not  misunderstand  her. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       129 

October  14TH,  Tlwrsday.     Moscow. 

Borodin  found  me  after  breakfast  miserably 
wrapped  around  in  my  rug  shivering  with  cold  and 
depression.  Tears  were  irrepressibly  streaming 
down  my  face.  I  had  several  grievances  which 
had  been  accumulating  for  some  days,  and  at  last 
my  impatience  had  come  to  a  head.  The  fact  is 
I  had  heard  of  a  courier  having  arrived  yester- 
day from  London,  and  no  one  had  taken  the 
trouble  to  find  out  if  there  were  any  letters  for 
me.  Ever  since  I  left  England  on  Sept.  iith  I 
have  not  had  one  word  of  news,  nor  answers  to 
two  telegrams  that  Kamenev  sent  for  me  asking 
after  the  children.  Secondly  I  had  not  been  given 
the  coat  that  Kamenev  had  ordered  for  me,  so 
it  was  impossible  to  go  out  as  it  was  too  cold. 

Michael  for  the  first  time  seemed  really  moved. 
He  wrapped  me  round  in  his  fur  coat,  went  off  to 
the  garden  and  fetched  up  a  load  of  wood  for  me 
(I  had  never  known  him  do  such  a  thing  before) 
and  lit  my  fire  himself.  Then  he  telephoned  to 
the  Foreign  Office.  There  were  no  letters  for  me, 
but  some  bundles  for  Kamenev — (  ?)  He  also 
got  hold  of  Comrad  Alexandre  on  the  telephone 
to  know  when  I  was  going  to  have  the  promised 
coat.  Altogether  he  was  very  helpful,  and  the 
involuntary  tears  had  been  very  efficacious.  His 
journey  to  Madrid  has  been  delayed  daily.  He 
is  to  start  to-morrow.     It  seems  to  me  that  in 


I30  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

Russia  one  only  knows  about  ten  minutes  before- 
hand what  one  is  going  to  do !  They  are  divinely 
vague. 


October  15TH,  1920.    Friday.    Moscow. 

I  went  to  the  Kremlin  to  meet  Comrad  Alex- 
andre there  at  midday.  He  was  to  bring  me  a 
soldier  as  a  model.  Not  feeling  brave  enough 
to  go  and  review  a  platoon  and  make  my  own  se- 
lection, I  had  described  exactly  what  I  wanted: 

Not  the  bloodthirsty  savage  Bolshevik  of  Eng- 
lish tradition,  but  the  dreamy  eyed  young  Slav, 
who  knows  what  he  is  fighting  for,  and  such  as  I 
passed  every  day  on  the  parade  ground.  I  waited 
in  my  studio  impatiently  till  2  o'clock,  and  then 
Alexandre  arrived  accompanied  by  a  soldier  who 
was  typically  neither  Russian,  nor  military,  nor  in- 
tellectual, nor  even  fine  physically.  He  was  small, 
white,  chetif,  and  had  a  waxed  mustache.  It 
was  a  bad  moment.  I  tried  to  hide  my  disap- 
pointment and  my  amusement.  I  missed  lunching 
in  order  to  work  on  him,  and  began  something 
that  was  not  in  the  least  like  my  model,  but  was 
the  product  of  my  imagination.  At  5  I  came 
home  tired  and  hungry  and  cold.  I  lay  down  on 
my  sofa  and  watched  the  dusk  crawl  up  behind 
the  Kremlin.  At  8 130  I  was  called  down  to 
the  telephone,  which  is  in  the  kitchen.     It  was 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY        131 

Borodin  speaking  from  the  Foreign  Office.  He 
said  "good-by"  in  his  abrupt  manner.      "This  is 

the  right  way "  he  said:     "This  is  the  way  it 

should  be."  The  maid  was  throwing  her  broom 
around  the  kitchen,  making  as  much  noise  as  pos- 
sible, and  a  strange  man  glared  at  me  out  of  the 
gloom.  I  found  it  difficult  to  concentrate  my  at- 
tention. Michael  knows  that  I  do  not  believe  in 
"futures"  but  nevertheless  we  said  "someday" 
and  I  wonder  very  much  if  that  strange  Commun- 
ist, Revolutionary,  with  his  mask-like  face  and 
deep  voice  will  ever  cross  my  path  again.  To- 
night I  regret  him,  but  then  I  am  lonely  for  the 
moment,  friendless,  and  this  is  a  place  where  one 
needs  friends. 

At  9  o'clock  having  not  eaten  since  10  A.  M.  I 
went  downstairs  to  Mr.  Vanderlip's  room  to  sug- 
gest we  round  up  some  food.  There  to  my  sur- 
prise I  found  Litvinolif,  who  had  been  in  Moscow 
since  the  day  before  yesterday.  Our  pleasure  at 
seeing  each  other  again  was  mutual  and  spon- 
taneous. He  is  coming  to  stay  at  our  house  and 
will  occupy  the  vacated  room  of  Borodin. 


October  i6th,  1920.     Saturday,  Moscow. 

Comrad  Alexandre  came  to  see  me  at  9  r.  M.  to 
tell  me  he  could  not  arrange  with  Trotsky  for 
sittings.     I  gathered  that  Trotsky  had  been  em- 


132  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

phatic  and  brusque  in  his  refusal — ^but  after  all  I 
hav^e  done  Lenin  and  he  is  the  one  who  counts 
most.  I  can  go  back  to  England  without  the 
head  of  Trotsky.  I  could  not  have  gone  without 
the  head  of  Lenin.  I  have  accomplished  what  I 
came  for,  and  so — to with  Trotsky! 

Alexandre  said  he  could  only  stay  lo  minutes, 
but  he  left  at  midnight.  He  talked  Communism 
the  whole  time.  Now  Borodin  unfurled  his  Com- 
munist spirit  to  me  slowly,  because  he  knew  me, 
and  to  what  I  belonged,  and  he  realized  that  the 
thing  hurled  at  me  in  a  crude  mass  would  stagger 
me.  He  led  me  up  to  it  with  great  caution.  Al- 
exandre on  the  other  hand,  with  no  understand- 
ing or  sympathy,  took  all  my  inborn  prejudices 
and  just  broke  them,  stamped  on  them,  meta- 
phorically spat  on  them,  and  gave  me  a  big  feed 
of  unadulterated  Communism.  He  is  a  fanatic, 
and  left  me  breathless  and  wondering.  All  was 
well  until  we  got  to  the  children  part:  he  said 
that  his  wife  had  to  work,  so  their  baby,  who  is 
six  weeks'  old,  has  to  go  by  day  to  the  Creche. 

"Are  you  satisfied  with  the  care  it  gets  at  the 
Creche?"  I  asked  him.  He  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, said  that  collectively  they  could  not  receive 
the  same  attention  as  they  could  if  they  were  cared 
for  individually.  He  then  volunteered  the  in- 
formation that  of  course  the  baby  was  more  liable 
to  get  ill  and  even  die,  if  it  was  in  the  Creche, 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       133 

but  that  It  was  a  chance,  and  after  all  his  wife's 
life  was  not  going  to  be  reduced  to  feeding,  wash- 
ing, and  dressing  a  baby.  That  was  no  sort  of 
existence,  and  so  what  alternative  was  there  ex- 
cept the  Creche? 

It  was  the  cold  dispassionate  way  in  which  he 
said  it  that  gave  me  the  creeps. 

"What  is  your  wife's  work?"  I  said. 

"Politics,  same  as  me "  he  said. 

"Are  you  fond  of  your  baby?" 
I  es 

"Is  your  wife   fond  of  it?" 
I  es 

I  thought  to  myself,  she  has  not  had  to  pray  for 
a  baby,  and  weep  because  the  months  went  by. 
She  has  not  had  to  wait  and  wait — it  is  not  in- 
finitely precious  to  her,  her  baby. 

He  then  counter-questioned  me: 

"What  did  you  do  with  your  children  when  you 
became  a  widow  and  had  no  home?" 

"My  parents  took  them." 

"And  if  you  had  had  no  parents  who  could  take 
them,  how  would  you  have  worked?" 

It  is  true  there  must  be  thousands  of  women 
who  earn  their  livings  and  have  no  family  in  the 
background  on  whom  to  plant  the  baby.  What 
happens  In  a  country  where  there  is  no  paternal 
State?  In  Russia  the  State  will  clothe,  feed  and 
educate  them  from  birth  until  fourteen  years  old. 


134  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

They  may  go  to  the  Creche  for  the  day  or  perma- 
nently. 

Children  may  go  to  the  State  school  for  the 
half  day,  whole  day,  or  to  board.  Their  parents 
may  see  them,  or  give  them  up  for  ever  as  they 
choose,  and  there  is  no  difference  made  between  the 
legitimate  and  the  illegitimate  child.  Moreover, 
according  to  the  labor  laws,  no  woman  may  work 
for  eight  weeks  before  the  baby  is  born,  nor  for 
eight  weeks  after  its  birth.  She  is  sent  away  to 
a  rest  house  in  the  country,  always  of  course  at 
the  State's  expense.  On  application  she  is  given 
the  necessary  layette  for  the  newborn.  It  is  dif- 
ficult to  preserve  one's  maternal  sentimentality  in 
the  face  of  this  Communistic  generosity. 


October  lyxH,  Sunday. 
I  stayed  in  bed  all  day  as  I  felt  ill,  and  there 
was  nothing  better  to  do.  LItvinoff  came  in  to 
see  me  in  the  afternoon  and  was  surprised  that  I 
did  not  begin  to  work  on  Trotsky.  I  explained 
to  him  that  through  Comrad  Alexandre,  Trotsky 
had  flatly  refused  to  let  me  do  him.  Litvinoff 
could  not  understand  this,  but  said  he  had  seen 
Trotsky  last  night.  It  was  then  decided  that  Lit- 
vinoff would  see  Trotsky  again  during  the  day, 
and  telephone  to  me  what  arrangements  he  could 
make.     He  then  left  me,  to  come  back  again  in  a 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       135 

few  minutes  bringing  something,  preciously,  in 
both  hands.  It  was  a  hen's  egg.  As  I  have  not 
seen  one  since  I  have  been  In  Moscow,  I  stifled  my 
Instinctive  aversion  to  accepting  valuable  presents 
from  men  and  had  the  egg  fried  for  dinner, 

October  iStii,  Monday.     Moscow. 

Trotsky's  car  came  for  me  punctually  at  1 1  130 
A.  M.  (usually  the  cars  that  are  ordered  are  an 
hour  late,  and  people  keep  their  appointments  two 
hours  late.  Trotsky  and  Lenin  are,  I  hear,  the 
only  two  exceptions  to  the  rule).  I  made  Lit- 
vinoff  come  and  tell  the  chauffeur  that  he  was 
first  to  go  to  the  Kremlin  with  me  to  fetch  my 
things.  When  we  got  to  the  big  round  building 
in  the  Kremlin  in  which  I  have  my  studio,  I  took 
the  chauffeur  to  the  pass  office  and  explained  by 
signs  by  showing  my  own  pass  that  I  required  one 
for  the  chauffeur.  This  was  done.  It  is  satis- 
factory to  have  arrived  at  the  stage  when  I  get  a 
pass  for  some  one  else.  Instead  of  some  one  else 
getting  one  for  me.  Kamenev  told  me  the  other 
day  that  I  walk  Into  the  Kremlin  with  the  air  of 
one  who  belonged  to  It. 

Trotsky's  chauffeur,  myself,  and  the  plaster 
moulder  who  was  there  working,  carried  the  things 
down  to  the  car,  and  I  was  driven  to  a  place  some 
way  off,  the  War  Ministry,  I  think.  Getting  In 
was  not  easy,  as  I  had  no  pass,  and  there  was  an 


136  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

altercation   with    the   sentry.      I   understood   the 
chauffeur  explaining:     "Yes,  yes,  it's  the  English 

sculptor "  but  the  sentry  was  adamant.     He 

shrugged  his  shoulders,  said  he  didn't  care,  and 
made  a  blank  face.  I  had  to  wait  until  a  secre- 
tary came  to  fetch  me.  He  took  me  upstairs, 
through  two  rooms  of  soldier  secretaries.  In  the 
end  room  there  was  a  door  guarded  by  a  sentry, 
and  next  to  that  door  a  big  writing  table  from 
which  some  one  telephoned  through  into  the  next 
room  to  know  if  I  could  come  in.  Unlike  Lenin's 
room,  not  even  secretaries  go  in  to  see  Trotsky 
without  telephoning  first  for  permission.  It  was 
not  without  some  trepidation,  having  heard  how 
very  intractable  he  is  (and  knowing  his  sister)  * 
that  I  was  ushered  in,  I  and  my  modeling  stand 
and  my  clay  together. 

I  had  instantly  the  pleasurable  sensation  of  a 
room  that  is  sympathetic, — ^big,  well  propor- 
tioned, and  simple. 

From  behind  an  enormous  writing  table  in  one 
corner  near  the  window  came  forth  Trotsky.  He 
shook  hands  with  me,  welcomingly,  though  with- 
out a  smile,  and  asked  if  I  talked  French. 

He  offered  courteously  to  assist  me  in  moving 
my  stand  into  the  right  place,  and  even  to  have 
his  mammoth  table  moved  into  some  other  po- 
sition if  the  light  was  not  right. 

*  Mrs.  Leo  Kamenev. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       137 

The  light  from  the  two  windows  was  certainly 
very  bad,  but  although  he  said:  "Move  any- 
thing and  do  just  whatever  you  like "  there 

was  nothing  one  could  do  that  would  help.  The 
room,  which  would  have  made  a  beautiful  ball- 
room, loomed  large  and  dark.  There  were  huge 
white  columns  which  got  in  my  way  and  hampered 
the  light.  My  heart  sank  at  the  difficulties  of  the 
situation.  I  looked  at  my  man,  who  was  bending 
down  writing  at  his  desk.  It  was  impossible  to 
see  his  face.  I  looked  at  him  and  then  at  my 
clay  in  despair.  Then  I  went  and  knelt  in  front 
of  the  writing  table  opposite  him,  with  my  chin 
on  his  papers.  He  looked  up  from  his  writing 
and  stared  back,  a  perfectly  steady  unabashed 
stare.  His  look  was  a  solemn  analytical  one;  per- 
haps mine  was  too.  After  a  few  seconds,  realizing 
the  absurdity  of  our  attitudes,  I  had  to  laugh,  and 

said,  "I  hope  you  don't  mind  being  looked  at " 

"I  don't  mind,"  he  said,  "I  have  my  revanche  in 
looking  at  you,  and  it  is  I  who  gain." 

He  then  ordered  a  fire  to  be  lit  because  he 
thought  it  was  cold  for  me.  It  was  not  cold,  it 
was  overheated,  but  the  sound  and  sight  of  the 
fire  were  nice.  A  matronly  peasant  woman  with 
a  handkerchief  tied  round  her  head  came  and  lit 
it.  He  said  he  liked  her  because  she  walked 
softly,  and  had  a  musical  voice.     Curious  that  he 


138  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

should  admire  in  another  what  is  so  characteristic 
of  himself;  his  voice  is  unusually  melodious. 

Seeing  that  he  was  prepared  to  be  amiable  I 
asked  him  if  I  could  bother  him  with  measure- 
ments. "Tout  ce  que  vous  voudrez,''  he  said,  and 
pointed  out  to  me  how  unsymmetrlcal  his  face  is. 
He  opened  his  mouth  and  snapped  his  teeth  to 
show  me  that  his  underjaw  is  crooked.  As  he 
did  so,  he  reminded  me  of  a  snarling  wolf.  When 
'he  talks  his  face  lights  up  and  his  eyes  flash. 
Trotsky's  eyes  are  much  talked  of  in  Russia,  and 
he  is  called  "the  wolf."  His  nose  is  also  crooked 
and  looks  as  though  it  had  been  broken.  If  it 
were  straight  he  would  have  a  very  fine  line  from 
the  forehead.  Full-face  he  is  Mephlsto.  His 
eyebrows  go  up,  at  an  angle,  and  the  lower  part 
of  his  face  tapers  into  a  pointed  and  defiant  beard. 
As  I  measured  him  with  calipers,  he  remarked: 
*'Fous  me  caressez  avec  des  instruments  d'acier." 
He  talks  very  rapidly  and  very  fluent  French,  and 
could  easily  be  mistaken  for  a  Frenchman.  I 
dragged  my  modeling  stand  across  the  room  to 
try  for  a  better  light  on  the  other  side.  He 
watched  me  with  a  weary  look,  and  said,  "Even  in 
clay  you  make  me  travel,  and  I  am  so  tired  of 
traveling."  He  explained  to  me  that  he  is  not  as 
desperately  busy  as  usual  because  there  is  Peace 
with  Poland,  and  good  news  from  the  South.  I 
told  him  that  I  had  nearly  gone  to  the  Southern 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       139 

front  with  Kalinin  who  wanted  to  take  me.  But 
that  Kamenev  wouldn't  let  me  go  because  It  was 
a  troop  train.  Without  hesitating  a  moment  he 
answered : 

"Do  you  want  to  go  to  the  front?  You  can 
come  with  me." 

He  was  thoughtful  for  awhile,  and  then  asked 
me,  "Are  you  under  the  care  here  of  our  Foreign 
Office?" 

I  said  I  was  not. 

"But  who  are  you  here  with?  Who  Is  re- 
sponsible for  you?" 

"Kamenev^"  I  said. 

"But  Kamenev  is  at  the  front." 

"Yes." 

"Then  you  are  alone?  H'm — that  is  very  dan- 
gerous in  a  revolutionary  country.  Do  you  know 
Karahan,  Tchitcherin's  secretary?" 

"Yes,  he  Is  living  in  our  house,  so  Is  Litvlnoff." 

"Ah,  Litvlnoff.     I  will  ring  him  up." 

He  did  ring  him  up,  but  what  he  said  I  could 
not  understand.  Litvlnoff  told  me  later  that 
Trotsky  had  asked  him  If  I  was  all  right  and  if 
it  would  be  indiscreet  or  not  to  show  me  the 
Front.     Litvlnoff  gave  me  a  good  character. 

At  4  o'clock  he  ordered  tea,  and  had  some 
with  me.  He  talked  to  me  about  himself,  and  of 
his  wanderings  in  exile  during  the  war,  and  h(nv. 
finally,  at  the  outbreak  of  the  revolution  he  sailed 


I40  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

on  a  neutral  ship  from  the  United  States  to  re- 
turn to  Russia,  how  the  British  arrested  him  and 
took  him  to  a  Canadian  concentration  camp.  He 
was  detained  a  few  months,  until  the  Russian  Gov- 
ernment succeeded  In  obtaining  his  release. 

He  was  particularly  incensed  at  the  British  In- 
terfering with  the  movements  of  a  man  who  was 
not  going  to  Britain,  nor  from  a  British  colony, 
nor  by  a  British  ship:  "But  I  had  a  good  time 
in  that  camp,"  he  said.  "There  were  a  lot  of 
German  sailors  there,  and  I  did  some  propaganda 
work.  By  the  time  I  left  they  were  all  good  rev- 
olutionaries, and  I  still  get  letters  from  some  of 
them." 

At  5  I  prepared  to  leave.  He  said  I  looked 
tired.  I  said  I  was  tired  from  battling  with  my 
work  In  such  a  bad  light.  He  suggested  trying 
by  electric  light,  and  we  agreed  for  7  o'clock  the 
next  evening.     He  sent  me  home  in  his  car. 


October  19TH,  1920.  Moscow. 
Trotsky's  car  came  at  6:30.  Nicholas  Andreef 
had  been  having  tea  with  me,  and  I  offered  to 
give  him  a  lift  as  he  lives  somewhere  near  the 
War  Ministry.  It  was  snowing  hard  and  there 
was  a  driving  wind,  which  lifted  up  the  frozen 
snow  and  blew  it  about  like  white  smoke.  The 
car  had  a  hood,  but  no  sides.    In  the  Red  Square 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       141 

we  punctured.     For  some  time  we  sat  patiently 
watching  the  passers-by  falling  down  on  the  slip- 
pery pavement,  and  the  horsecarts  struggling  up 
the  hill.    Winter  has  come  very  suddenly  and  one 
month  too  soon.     The  horses  have  not  yet  been 
shod  for  the  slippery  roads,  consequently  they  can 
hardly  stand  up.     This  morning  I  counted  four 
down  all  at  the  same  moment.   In  London  a  fallen 
horse   attracts   a   good  deal  of  attention,   and   a 
crowd  collects — but  here  no  one  even  turns  his 
head  to  look.     I  have  been  much  laughed  at  be- 
cause I  stop  to  watch,  but  the  method  of  getting 
the  horse  up  amuses  me.     The  driver    (man  or 
woman,   as  the   case   may   be)    gets   behind   and 
pushes  the  cart.     The  horse,  so  weak  that  he  has 
no  resisting  power  impelled  forward  by  the  shafts, 
struggles  to  his  feet  in  spite  of  himself.     No  un- 
harnessing is  necessary.    This  evening  when  I  be- 
came too  cold  to  be  interested  any  longer  by  the 
passers-by  falling  in  the  Red  Square,  I  asked  the 
chauffeur  if  he  had  nearly  finished.     He  answered 
"cichas,"  which  literally  translated  is  "immediate- 
ly" but  in  practice  means  to-morrow,  or  next  week  I 
So  I  pulled  up  the  fur  collar  of  my  inadequate 
cloth  coat,  put  my  feet  up  lengthways  on  the  seat, 
and  let  Andreef  sit  on  them  to  keep  them  warm. 
I  arrived  at  Trotsky's  at  7  130.     He  looked  at  me 
and  then  at  the  clock.     I  explained  what  had  hap- 
pened.    "So  that  is  the  reason  of  your  inexacti- 


142  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

tude,"  he  said.  An  inexactitude  which  could  not 
in  the  least  inconvenience  him  as  he  did  not  have 
to  wait  for  me.  He  kissed  my  frozen  hand,  and 
put  two  chairs  for  me  by  the  fire,  one  for  me  and 
one  for  my  feet.  When  I  had  melted  and  turned 
on  all  the  lights  of  the  crystal  candelabra  he  said, 
"We  will  have  an  agreement,  quite  businesslike:  I 
shall  come  and  stand  by  the  side  of  your  work  for 
five  minutes  every  half  hour."  Of  course  the  five 
minutes  got  very  enlarged,  and  we  talked  and 
worked  and  lost  all  track  of  time.  When  the 
telephone  rang  he  asked,  "Have  I  your  permis- 
sion?" His  manners  are  charming.  I  said  to 
him:  "I  cannot  get  over  it,  how  amiable  and 
courteous  you  are.  I  understood  you  were  a  very 
disagreeable  man!  What  am  I  to  say  to  people 
in  England  when  they  ask  me,  'What  sort  of  a 
monster  is  Trotsky?'  "    With  a  mischievous  look 

he  said:  "Tell  them  in  England,  tell  them " 

(But  I  cannot  tell  them!)      I  said  to  him,  "You 

are  not  a  bit  like  your  sister "     The  shadow 

of  a  smile  crossed  his  face,  but  he  did  not  answer. 
I  showed  him  photographs  of  my  work.  He 
kept  the  ones  of  the  "Victory."  Among  the  por- 
traits, he  liked  "Asquith"  best  and  said  that  one 
was  worked  with  more  feeling  and  care  than  any 
of  the  others.  He  took  for  granted  that  As- 
quith must  like  me,  which  is  not  necessarily  the 
case,  and  said  half  laughingly:     "You  have  given 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       143 

me  an  idea — If  Asquith  comes  back  into  office 
soon  (there  is  a  rumor  that  he  might  bring  in  a 
coalition  with  labor  and  recognize  Russia)  I  will 
hold  you  as  a  hostage  until  England  makes  peace 
with  us."  I  laughed,  "What  you  are  saying  hu- 
morously is  what  a  British  Official  told  me  seri- 
ously, only  he  said  it  apropos  of  Winston.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  Ed  be  proud  if  I  could  be  of  any 
use  In  the  cause  of  Peace.  But  if  you  said  you 
would  shoot  me,  Winston  would  only  say  'shoot,'  " 
which  is  to  my  mind  the  right  spirit,  and  exactly 
the  spirit  that  prevails  among  the  Bolsheviks. 
They  would  not  hesitate  to  shoot  me  (some  of 
them  have  told  me  so)  if  it  were  necessary,  even 
if  they  liked  me  as  a  woman.  Winston  Is  the 
only  man  I  know  in  England  who  is  made  of  the 
stuff  that  Bolsheviks  are  made  of.  He  has  fight, 
force,  and  fanaticism. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  evening,  as  Trotsky 
said  nothing  more  about  the  project  of  my  going 
to  the  Eront,  I  asked  him  If  he  had  decided  to 
take  me  or  not.  He  said :  "It  is  for  you  to 
decide  if  you  wish  to  come — but  I  shall  not  start 
for  three  or  four  days."  It  was  getting  late,  he 
looked  very  tired.  He  was  standing  in  front  of 
the  clay  with  his  back  to  it  so  that  I  had  the  two 
profiles  exactly  in  line.  His  eyes  were  shut  and 
he  swayed.  Eor  a  moment  I  feared  he  was  going 
to  faint.     One  does  not  think  of  Trotsky  as  a 


144  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

man  who  faints,  but  anything  may  happen  to  a 
man  who  works  as  he  does.  My  thought  was  of 
my  work,  and  I  said  to  him:  "Do  not  fall  back- 
ward, or  you  fall  on  my  work."  He  answered 
quickly,  "Je  tomhe  toiijours  en  avantf"  I  asked 
him  to  order  the  motor,  having  realized  that  un- 
less he  sends  for  it  I  have  to  wait  outside  in  the 
cold  or  look  for  it  in  the  garage.  While  the  car 
was  coming  round  he  sent  for  a  reproduction  of 
a  portrait  of  himself  by  an  artist  friend  of  his,  to 
show  me  that  the  same  difficulties  I  am  having 
with  his  jaw  and  chin  were  experienced  also  by 
the  draughtsman  who  only  succeeded  in  this,  the 
last  of  a  great  many  sketches.  It  is  evidently  one 
that  Trotsky  likes,  for  it  is  reproduced  in  color 
in  almost  every  office  one  goes  into.  I  told  him 
I  wanted  it  and  he  wrote  upon  it  "Tovaritsch 
Clare  Sheridan"  and  signed  it.  This  has  its  effect 
on  the  Bolsheviks  who  have  been  into  my  room 
and  have  seen  it! 

October  20TH,  1920.  Moscow. 
Comrad  Alexandre  telephoned  that  he  would 
fetch  me  at  one  o'clock  to  go  to  the  fur  store.  I 
suppose  the  intense  cold  had  at  last  moved  either 
his  pity  or  his  anxiety  for  me.  Before  I  left, 
Vanderllp  said  that  if  there  was  any  choice,  and 
I  was  fool  enough  not  to  choose  a  sable  coat,  he 
would  never  speak  to  me  again.     The  threat  left 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       i^s 

me  unmoved.  It  is  only  on  occasions  of  neces- 
sity when  we  exchange  valuable  presents,  say  a 
new  tooth  brush  for  a  box  of  pills,  that  we  have 
an  armistice.  On  the  way  to  the  fur  store  Alex- 
andre picked  up  another  man,  unknown  but  very 
nice,  with  whom  I  talked  a  mixture  of  English 
and  German.  We  went  to  one  of  the  biggest 
storehouses  in  Moscow,  which  like  all  the  rest  had 
been  a  private  firm,  but  has  been  requisitioned  by 
the  Government.  It  was  a  cave-like  building, 
dark  and  stone  cold.  We  went  up  in  a  cage  lift 
to  what  seemed  to  be  the  attic.  It  was  low  and 
long  and  dark  and  an  arclight  barely  lit  up  the 
corner.  Coats  hung  from  the  ceiling  like  so  many 
hundred  Bluebeard  wives. 

I  took  off  mine  to  try  on.  An  old  man  who 
looked  like  Moses  and  spoke  German  showed  me 
the  best  and  told  me  to  make  my  choice.  Alex- 
andre looked  on  with  a  grim  smile,  and  asked  if 
I  was  the  proverbial  woman,  or  whether  I'd  make 
my  choice  within  reasonable  limits  of  time.  It 
was  not  easy.  The  coats  dated  back  three  years, 
and  some  were  even  too  old-fashioned  for  Mos- 
cow! I  liked  a  brown  Siberian  pony  lined  with 
ermine,  but  the  moth  had  got  into  the  pony.  I 
liked  a  broadtail  but  it  was  thin  as  cloth.  They 
offered  to  have  it  furlined  for  me,  but  my  need 
was  immediate.  There  was  a  mink,  but  it  had  an 
antiquated     flounce.       There     were     astrachans. 


146  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

hut  every  one  in  Moscow  has  astrachan,  and  It 
seemed  too  ordinary.  I  felt  hewildered.  My  at- 
tention then  wandered  to  a  row  of  shubas:  big 
sleeveless  cloaks  of  velvet,  that  wrap  around  one, 
and  descend  to  one's  feet.  There  was  a  dream 
lined  with  blue  fox,  and  another  with  white.  My 
friends  put  one  around  my  shoulders,  it  was  lined 
with  sable:  light  as  a  feather,  and  warm  as  a  nest. 
I  despairingly  voiced  the  fact  that  I  could  not 
walk  about  the  streets  of  Moscow  in  a  wine  col- 
ored velvet  and  sable  cape.  They  said  I  could, 
but  then  they  were  wrong.  "I  look  much  too 
bourgeois,  I  shall  be  shot!" 

"You  won't  be  shot,  and  sable  is  good  enough 
for  a  good  worker."  I  showed  a  sable  stole  to 
Alexandre  and  told  him  it  was  the  blackest  and 
most  beautiful  bit  of  sable  one  could  find.  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders  with  perfect  indifference, 
and  said  he  knew  nothing  about  it.  Finally  I 
walked  out  in  a  very  practical  black  Siberian  pony 
lined  with  gray  squirrel,  divinely  v/arm  though 
rather  hea\y,  and  Alexandre  said  to  me:  "Now 
you  can  say  you  have  shared  in  the  Government 
distribution  of  Bourgeois  property  to  the  people." 

At  7  :30  p,  M.  Trotsky  sent  his  car  for  me,  but 
a  soldier  stopped  us  before  we  even  reached  the 
block  where  the  War  Ministry  is.  The  whole 
bit  of  road  was  being  especially  guarded.  The 
reason   for   this   is  because   foreign  papers  have 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       147 

announced  an  impending  counter-revolution,  but 
if  there  is  any  such  plot  their  warning  has  been 
given  most  obligingly  in  time,  and  steps  have  been 
taken  to  deal  with  it.  The  town  is  placarded 
with  notices  that  inhabitants  must  not  be  out  after 
midnight.  It  gave  one  just  a  small  thrill  and 
there  have  been  none  so  far.  This  evening  when 
I  arrived  Trotsky  stood  by  the  fire  while  I  was 
warming  and  I  asked  him  for  news.  He  says 
that  the  German  workers  have  voted  in  favor  of 
joining  the  Moscow  International  which  is  very 
important.  "England  is  our  only  real  and  dan- 
gerous enemy,"  he  said.     "Not  France ?"   I 

asked.  "No,  France  is  just  a  noisy  hysterical 
woman,  making  scenes:  but  England — that  is  dif- 
ferent altogether." 

He  talked  about  the  persistence  of  the  Foreign 
press  in  decrying  the  stability  of  the. Soviet  Gov- 
ernment. All  the  Governments  of  Europe,  he 
said,  had  undergone  changes  in  the  last  three 
years.  He  pointed  to  France,  Italy,  the  Central 
Powers,  Turkey,  and  finally  Poland.  The  Brit- 
ish Government  was  holding  out  longer  than  any 
other,  but  that  was  pretty  rocky,  and  its  minis- 
ters were  constantly  changing  their  posts.  The 
Soviet  Government  was  the  oldest  Government  in 
Europe,  and  the  only  one  in  which  the  Ministers 
retained  their  posts  and  displayed  any  unity,  and 


148  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

this  in  spite  of  every  effort  on  the  part  of  the 
world  to  dislodge  them! 

He  then  busied  himself  at  his  table  with  papers. 
I  worked  for  an  hour  and  we  never  spoke.  But 
he  never  disregarded  me  as  Lenin  did.  I  could 
walk  round  Lenin  and  look  at  him  from  all  sides, 
while  he  remained  absorbed  In  his  reading,  and 
apparently  oblivious  of  my  presence.  Whenever 
I  go  near  Trotsky  he  looks  up  sharply  from  his 
work,  with  piercing  eyes,  and  I  forget  which  part 
of  his  face  I  was  intent  upon.  Towards  the  end 
of  the  evening,  when  even  my  tiptoe  stalking  had 
aroused  him,  he  asked  me,  "Avez  vous  besoin  de 
moif"  I  replied  yes,  as  always.  He  came  and 
stood  by  the  clay  but  he  is  very  critical,  and 
watches  it  and  me  all  the  time,  and  makes  me 
nervous.  I  undid  and  did  over  again  a  good  deal. 
The  room  was  hot,  and  the  clay  got  dry;  it  was 
uphill  work.  Never  have  I  done  any  one  so  dif- 
ficult. He  Is  subtle  and  irregular.  At  one  mo- 
ment the  bust  looked  like  Scipio  Afrlcanus,  and 
I  could  see  he  was  dissatisfied;  then  when  I  had 
altered  It  and  asked  him  what  he  thought,  he  stood 
for  some  time  In  silence  with  a  suppressed  smile 
before  he  let  himself  go:  "It  looks  like  a  French 
Bon  Bourgeois,  who  admires  the  woman  who  Is 
doing  him,  but  he  has  no  connection  with  Com- 
munism !" 

Happily  the  peasant  woman  came  in  with  tea. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       149 

and  I  sat  down  wearily  with  my  head  in  my  hands, 
utterly  dispirited  and  discouraged.  Only  the  fierce 
determination  to  make  it  come  right  roused  me 
and  I  went  at  it  again.  He  said  as  he  watched  me, 
"When  your  teeth  are  clenched  and  you  are  fight- 
ing with  your  work,  "vous  etes  encore  femme."  I 
asked  him  to  take  off  his  pince-nez,  as  it  hampered 
me.  He  hates  doing  this,  he  says  he  feels  "des- 
arme"  and  absolutely  lost  without  them.  It 
seemed  akin  to  physical  pain,  taking  them  off — 
they  have  become  part  of  him  and  the  loss  of  them 
completely  changes  his  individuality.  It  is  a  pity, 
as  they  rather  spoil  an  otherwise  classical  head. 
While  he  was  standing  there  helplessly  with 
introspectively  half  closed  eyes,  he  remarked  on 
my  name  being  spelt  the  same  way  as  that  of  the 
playwright.  I  explained  that  I  had  married  a 
direct  descendant.  He  was  interested  and  said, 
"The  School  for  Scandal"  and  "The  Rivals,"  had 
been  translated  and  were  occasionally  acted  here 
in  Russian.  He  then  got  on  to  Shakespeare.  I 
wish  I  could  recall  the  words  in  which  he  de- 
scribed his  appreciation,  exclaiming  finally,  "If 
England  had  never  produced  anything  else,  she 
would  have  justified  her  existence."  We  disa- 
greed as  to  Byron  and  Shelley.  He,  like  others  I 
have  met  here,  preferred  Byron,  and  insisted  in 
spite  of  my  assertions  to  the  contrary  that  Byron 
was  the  greater  Revolutionary  of  the  two.     He 


I50  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

was  surprised  that  I  loved  Swinburne.  He  said 
he  would  have  thought  me  too  much  of  this 
world  to  love  the  spirituality  of  Swinburne.  I 
said:  "One  has  one's  dreams."     He  gave  a  sigh: 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "we  all  have  our  dreams " 

When  at  the  end  of  the  evening  I  was  dissatis- 
fied with  my  work  and  feeling  suicidal  I  asked  him, 
"May  I  come  back  and  work  to-morrow  night?" 
"And  the  night  after,"  he  answered,  and  added, 
laughing,  that  he  would  rig  the  place  up  as  a  studio 
for  me,  and  that  I  could  do  General  Kamenev 
after  I'd  finished  him.  General  Kamenev  (who 
is  no  relation  to  Leo  Kamenev)  is  the  Command- 
er-in-Chief and  was  a  very  distinguished  Tsariste 
officer.  I  hear  that  he  strongly  warned  the  War 
Ministry  against  advancing  too  far  towards  War- 
saw, and  foretold  the  debacle  that  has  since  been 
fulfilled.  But  he  was  not  listened  to,  perhaps 
because  of  his  Tsariste  tradition.  Probably  his 
opinion  is  more  respected  now.  Trotsky  asked 
me  if  I  would  like  to  do  Tchitcherin,  and  I  ex- 
plained that  never  before  had  I  worked  under 
such  difl^icult  conditions,  and  that  although  I  had 
made  efforts  for  Lenin  and  himself  I  did  not  feel 
like  doing  it  again  for  any  one  else.  He  was 
quite  indignant  and  said,  "What  difl^culty  have 
you  had  in  working  here?"  True  it  was  a  per- 
fectly good  room  and  excellent  light,  but  Tchitche- 
rin would  not  move  out  of  his  Commissariat  and 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       151 

that  would  mean  new  conditions  to  adapt  one's  self 
to,  nor  does  any  one  understand  the  difficulties  of 
moving  the  finished  work  back  to  the  Kremlin. 
Trotsky  swept  my  excuses  aside:  "Of  course  you 
must  do  Tchitcherin — it  is  almost  a  diplomatic  ob- 
ligation on  his  part  to  be  done." 

It  was  a  quarter  to  midnight  when  I  prepared  to 
stop  work  and  looked  desperately  at  the  clock: 
"What  about  this  order — how  am  I  to  be  home 
at  midnight?"  I  asked.  He  said,  "I  will  take  you 
myself."  At  about  half  after  midnight  we  left. 
A  man  in  uniform  joined  us  and  sat  next  to  the 
driver.  He  had  in  his  hands  a  very  big  leather 
holster.  We  started  off  by  going  in  the  opposite 
direction  to  the  right  one,  and  I  had  to  try  and 
describe  to  them  the  way.  We  turned  back,  and 
crossing  the  bridge  we  were  stopped  by  five  sol- 
diers. The  man  with  the  holster  had  to  show  our 
papers  by  the  light  of  the  car  lamp.  It  delayed 
us  several  minutes.  I  said  to  Trotsky:  "Put  your 
head  out  of  the  window  and  say  who  you  are." 
"Tmsez-vous,"  said  Trotsky  peremptorily.  I  sat 
rebuked  and  silent  until  we  were  able  to  pass  on 
unrecognized.  He  explained  afterwards  that  he 
did  not  want  them  to  hear  a  woman's  voice  in 
the  car  talking  English.  I  was  talking  French 
as  we  always  do  together,  and  what  does  it  mat- 
ter to  any  one  in  this  country  whether  there  is  a 


152  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

woman  in  a  Government  car  or  not — but  I  did 
not  argue. 


October  2 1ST,  1920.    Moscow. 

I  went  to  see  my  friend  the  plastermolder 
who  is  working  for  so  many  thousand  roubles 
a  day  in  my  studio.  He  is  making  piecemolds 
of  the  busts,  so  that  I  can  have  duplicates 
when  I  go.  I  asked  Andreef  why  he  had  to 
be  paid  so  much.  Andreef  explained  that  he 
is  the  only  moulder  in  Moscow,  so  he  can  ask 
what  he  likes — "He  says  he  will  work  for  this, 
and  not  for  that."  And  Andreef  held  a  thou- 
sand rouble  note  in  one  hand,  and  a  hundred  rou- 
ble note  in  the  other.  "But  it  is  all  the  same 
really,  only  it's  a  different  pattern!"  And  he 
laughed.  Certainly  money  has  no  value  here,  and 
no  meaning.  At  8  o'clock  I  went  back  again  to 
the  War  Commissariat  in  Trotsky's  car.  On  ar- 
rival I  told  him  that  I  had  got  to  get  this  work 
right  to-night,  and  that  he  was  not  to  be  critical 
and  look  at  it  all  the  time  and  make  me  nervous. 

He  was  surprised  and  said  that  he  had  no  idea 
he  had  that  effect  on  me,  that  all  he  wanted  was 
to  help.  "Je  veiix  travailler  cela  avec  vous."  His 
criticism  he  said  was  from  intense  interest,  and 
that  for  nothing  in  the  world  would  he  be  dis- 
couraging.    He  promised,  however,  to  be  good. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       153 

and  offer  no  opinion  until  asked.  It  was  a  better 
night  for  work.  I  felt  calmer  and  it  went  pretty 
well. 

The  worst  difficulties  were  surmounted. 
Trotsky  stood  for  me  in  a  good  light  and  dic- 
tated to  his  stenographer.  That  was  excellent. 
His  face  was  animated  and  his  attention  occupied. 
I  got  all  one  side  of  his  face  done.  Then  came 
the  question  of  the  other  side.  He  laughed,  sug- 
gested another  dictation,  offered  to  stand  in  an- 
other position,  and  called  back  his  stenographer. 
When  we  were  alone  again  he  came  and  stood 
close  beside  the  clay  and  we  talked  while  I  went 
on  working.  We  talked  a  little  about  me.  He 
said  I  should  remain  In  Russia  a  while  longer, 
and  do  some  big  work — something  like  my  "Vic- 
tory." "An  emaciated  and  exhausted  figure  and 
still  fighting  and  that  is  the  allegory  of  the 
Soviet." 

I  answered  him  that  I  could  get  no  news  of  my 
children  and  therefore  must  go  back. 

"I  must  return  to  my  own  world,  to  my  own 
conv^entional  people  whose  first  thought  is  always 
for  what  the  world  will  think.  Russia  with  its 
absence  of  hypocrisy  and  pose,  Russia  with  its  big 
ideas,  has  spoilt  me  for  my  own  world." 

"Ah!  that  is  what  you  say  now,  but  when  you 
are  away "  and  he  hesitated. 

Then   suddenly  turning  on  mc,   with   clenched 


154  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

teeth  and  fire  in  his  eyes,  he  shook  a  threatening 
finger  in  my  face :  "If  when  you  get  back  to  Eng- 
land vons  nous  calomniez  as  the  rest  have,  I  tell 

you  I  will  come  to  England  et  je  vous "    He 

did  not  say  what  he  would  do,  but  there  was  mur- 
der in  his  face. 

I  smiled:  "That  is  all  right.  Now  I  know 
how  to  get  you  to  England."  (Then  to  fall  in 
with  his  mood)  :  "How  can  I  go  back  and  abuse 
the  hospitality  and  the  chivalrous  treatment  I 
have  received?" 

He  said,  "It  is  not  abusing,  but  there  are  ways 
of  criticizing  even  without  abuse.  It  is  easy 
enough  here  to  be  blinded  par  les  saletes  et  les 
souf ranees  and  to  see  no  further  than  that,  and 
people  are  apt  to  forget  that  there  is  no  birth 
without  suffering  and  horror,  and  Russia  is  in  the 
throes  of  a  great  accouchement," 

He  talks  well,  he  is  full  of  imagery  and  his  voice 
is  beautiful. 

We  paused  for  tea,  and  I  talked  to  him  of 
things  I  had  heard  about  the  schools.  In  reply 
he  said  he  had  heard  no  adverse  reports  of  the  co- 
education scheme  for  boys  and  girls.  There  might 
be  an  individual  case  of  failure,  though  even  of 
such  a  case  he  had  not  heard.  He  then  compared 
the  present  system  with  that  of  boy  colleges  of 
his  own  day,  and  he  said  that  his  own  boy  of  four- 
teen had  nicer  ideas  about  girls,  and  far  less  cyni- 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       155 

cism  than  he  had  at  the  same  age.  The  boy  ap- 
parently confides  in  his  mother,  so  he  knows  some- 
thing about  it. 

To-night  he  sent  me  home  alone  in  his  car.  He 
excused  himself,  saying  it  was  the  only  time  it 
was  possible  for  him  to  walk.  He  kissed  my  dirty 
hand  and  said  that  he  would  always  preserve  a 
memory  of  "Une  femme — avec  une  aureole  de 
cheveux  et  des  mmns  tres  sals." 


October  22ND,  1920.    Moscow. 

Finished  I 

I  worked  until  half  after  midnight.  I  think  it 
is  a  success.  He  said  so,  but  it  has  been  such  a 
struggle. 

About  half  way  through  the  evening,  the  electric 
lights  went  out.  A  secretary  lit  four  candles.  On 
the  telephone  Trotsky  learnt  that  the  lights  had 
gone  out  all  over  the  town. 

I  asked  him  hopefully  if  it  could  possibly  be 
the  outburst  of  a  counter-revolution. 

He  laughed  and  asked  if  that  was  what  I 
wanted. 

I  said  I  thought  it  would  break  the  monotony. 

Until  the  lights  went  on  I  read  the  leading 
article  on  Bolshevism  in  The  Times  of,  I  think, 
October  4th.  He  had  several  English  papers  on 
his  desk  and  we  read  together  with  much  amuse- 


156  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

ment,  that  he  (Trotsky)  had  been  wounded,  and 
that  General  Budienny  has  been  courtmartialed. 
There  were  even  descriptions  of  barricades  in 
the  streets  of  Moscow.  Some  one  must  have  mis- 
taken the  stacks  of  fuel  that  the  tramcars  are 
bringing  in  and  unloading  every  day.  When  the 
lights  went  on  I  worked  hectically  until  half  after 
midnight  with  the  desperation  of  knowing  it  was 
the  last  sitting. 

At  midnight  he  was  standing  by  the  side  of  the 
work,  rather  tired  and  very  still  and  patient,  when 
suddenly  I  had  the  thought  of  asking  him  to  undo 
his  collar  for  me.  He  unbuttoned  his  tunic  and 
the  shirt  underneath,  and  laid  bare  his  neck 
and  chest.  I  work  like  a  fury  for  half  an 
hour  which  was  all  too  short.  I  tried  to  convey 
into  my  clay  some  of  his  energy  and  vitality.  I 
worked  with  the  concentration  that  always  accom- 
panies last  moments.     When  I  left  he  said  to  me, 

"Eh  bien,  on  ira  ensemble  an  front ?"     But 

something  tells  me  that  we  will  never  meet  again. 
I  feel  that  it  is  almost  worth  while  to  preserve  the 
impression  of  our  hours  of  individual  work,  col- 
laboration and  quietude,  silently  guarded  over  by 
a  sentry  with  fixed  bayonet  outside  the  door.  To 
let  in  the  light  of  day  would  be  to  spoil  it. 

There  is  a  French  saying:  "On  n'est  pas  tou- 
jours  nee  dans  son  pays."  It  equally  follows  that 
all  are  not  born  in  their  rightful  sphere.     Trotsky 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       157 

is  one  of  these.  At  one  time,  in  his  youth,  what 
was  he?  A  Russian  exile  in  a  journalist  office. 
Even  then  I  am  told  he  was  witty,  but  the  witti- 
ness  that  is  bitterness.  Now  he  has  come  into 
his  own  and  has  unconsciously  developed  a  new 
individuality.  He  has  the  manner  and  ease  of  a 
man  born  to  a  great  position.  He  has  become  a 
statesman,  a  ruler,  a  leader.  But  if  Trotsky  were 
not  Trotsky,  and  the  world  had  never  heard  of 
him,  one  would  still  appreciate  his  very  brilliant 
mind.  The  reason  I  have  found  him  so  much 
more  difficult  to  do  than  I  expected,  is  on  account 
of  his  triple  personality.  He  is  the  cultured  well 
read  man,  he  is  the  vituperative  fiery  politician, 
he  can  be  the  mischievous  laughing  school-boy 
with  a  dimple  in  his  cheek.  All  these  three  I  have 
seen  in  turn,  and  had  to  converge  them  into  one 
clay  interpretation. 


October  23RD,  1920.  Saturday.  Moscow. 
I  went  in  the  n'orning  to  fetch  away  the  bust 
and  take  it  to  my  room  in  the  Kremlin.  I  went 
at  1 1  before  Trotsky  had  got  there.  His  motor 
was  at  my  disposal  and  three  men  to  convey  the 
precious  work  away.  These  are  the  moments  that 
take  years  off  my  life!  It  arrived,  however,  un- 
damaged, which  was  little  short  of  a  triumph. 
When  my  plaster  moulder  saw  it  he   exclaimed 


158  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

with  pleasure.  Apparently  it  is  very  like,  and 
every  one  is  pleased.  As  Trotsky  is  adored,  I 
take  it  as  a  great  compliment  to  my  work  that  the 
Bolsheviks  consider  it  good  enough. 

The  relief  of  having  accomplished  him  as  well 
as  Lenin  is  indescribable.  1  wake  up  in  the  night 
and  wonder  if  it  is  true  or  a  dream.  Now  I  am 
completely  happy;  I  have  achieved  my  purpose. 
I  have  proved  myself  to  these  people,  and  they 
in  return  have  proved  their  belief  in  me  by  their 
trouble  and  courteousness.  I  am  no  longer  har- 
assed by  anxieties  and  fears.  Those  who  dis- 
couraged me  in  the  early  days,  treat  me  now  with 
respect,  consideration,  and  even  admiration.  I 
am  happy,  I  am  happy,  I  sing  when  I  wake  in  the 
morning,  I  sing  when  I  wash  in  cold  water,  I 
come  down  to  my  breakfast  of  black  bread  with 
a  lighter  step!  I  breakfast  every  morning  with 
Litvinoff.  By  coming  down  at  1 1  the  others 
have  finished,  so  we  can  talk.  If  Rothstein  is 
present  the  conversation  becomes  Russian.  If 
Vanderlip  is  there  he  talks  all  the  time  about 
America.  (He  usually  leaves  the  room  with  bore- 
dom if  conversation  is  on  any  other  subject!)  It 
is  the  fashion  in  Europe  to  villify  Litvinoff  and 
to  regard  him  as  a  terribly  dangerous  man.  I 
suppose  he  is  an  astute  diplomatist.  Whatever 
he  is  he  is  better  than  he  pretends,  and  though 
he  gets  no  credit  for  it,  he  has  done  a  good  deal 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       159 

for  the  British  prisoners  here.  He  has  an  un- 
fortunately abrupt  manner,  and  a  way  of  refusing 
to  do  things,  by  pretending  it  is  no  concern  of  his, 
but  straightway  he  will  go  off  and  do  a  kindness 
ta  the  very  people  who  are  damning  him  for  hav- 
ing refused.  To  me  he  is  frank,  outspoken,  and 
always  ready  to  help. 

I  have  a  great  trust  in  him,  and  I  know  he  is 
my  friend,  and  will  carry  out  his  self-imposed 
task  of  protecting  me.  But  to-day  he  gave  me 
furiously  to  think.  Suddenly,  without  any  warn- 
ing, he  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  fixed  me  with  his 
small  eyes:  "Do  you  know  a  man  called  Russel 
Cooke?"  he  asked.  It  was  rather  a  surprising 
question,  and  I  admitted  that  I  knew  a  very  young 
man  called  Sidney  Russel  Cooke.  Though  why 
Litvinoff  should  have  ever  heard  of  him  I  couldn't 
imagine.  He  went  on  to  say  that  Kamenev  knows 
him.  I  said  yes,  that  Kamenev  had  met  him 
through  me.  Litvinoff  said:  "He  is  in  the  Brit- 
ish Intelligence  Service,  isn't  he?"  I  confess  to  a 
slight  shiver  down  my  spine  when  he  said  this; 
but  I  refuted  the  statement.  I  said  that  so  far 
as  I  knew  (and  it  hadn't  interested  me  very  much) 
Sidney  Cooke  was  working  in  the  city  awaiting  a 
propitious  moment  to  plunge  into  rather  liberal 
politics.  Litvinoff  gave  a  sort  of  grunt,  which  de- 
noted nothing  at  all,  and  refused  to  be  drawn  any 
further  on  the  subject.     But  something  seems  to 


i6o  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

be  in  the  air,  and  I  cannot  tell  what  it  is.  Odd 
things  happen,  quite  small  things,  but  they  give 
one  a  feeling  of  insecurity.  I  have  asked  if  I  may 
see  Constantin  Benckendorff.*  I  have  explained 
that  he  is  the  only  friend  I've  got  in  Russia,  and 
that  I  haven't  seen  him  since  before  I  married. 
When  I  return  to  England  I  shall  see  his  mother 
and  sister,  and  would  like  to  give  them  news  of 
him.  Litvinoff  said  that  Benckendorff  was,  he 
thought,  at  Riga,  but  he  would  find  out.  Later 
he  came  to  me,  and  said  rather  mysteriously: 
"Don't  try  to  see  your  friend  Benckendorff,  and 
please  don't  ask  me  why,  but  be  advised  by  me, 
not  to  ask  any  one  to  arrange  for  you  to  see  him." 
So  there  it  is.  I  do  not  understand,  but  one  has 
learnt  not  to  argue,  and,  moreover,  to  do  as  one 
is  told.  When  I  said  to  Kamenev:  "There  is 
no  liberty  here,"  he  laughed  and  said  there  is  "une 
liberie  dicipUne" — and  I  suppose  (it  is  hard  to  be- 
lieve!)  I  have  become  well  disciplined! 


October  24TH,  1920.    Sunday.     Moscow. 

We  have  all  been  very  much  saddened  by  the 

death  from  typhus  of  John  Reed,  the  American 

Communist.     Every  one  liked  him  and  his  wife. 

Louise  Bryant,  the  War  Correspondent,     She  is 

*  An  officer  in  the  Russian  Navy   and  son  of  the  late  Count 
Benckendorff,   ambassador   to   Great  Britain. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       i6i 

quite  young  and  had  only  recently  joined  him.  He 
had  been  here  two  years,  and  Mrs.  Reed,  unable 
to  obtain  a  passport,  finally  came  in  through  Mur- 
mansk. Everything  possible  was  done  for  him, 
but  of  course  there  are  no  medicaments  here;  the 
hospitals  are  cruelly  short  of  necessities.  He 
should  not  have  died,  but  he  was  one  of  those 
young  strong  men  impatient  of  illness,  and  in  the 
early  stages  he  would  not  take  care  of  himself. 

I  attended  his  funeral.  It  is  the  first  funeral 
without  a  religious  service  that  I  have  ever  seen. 
It  did  not  seem  to  strike  any  one  else  as  peculiar, 
but  it  was  to  me.  His  cofl^n  stood  for  some  days 
in  the  Trades  Union  Hall,  the  walls  of  which  are 
covered  with  huge  revolutionary  cartoons  in 
marvelously  bright  decorative  coloring.  We  all 
assembled  in  that  hall.  The  coffin  stood  on  a 
dais  and  was  covered  with  flowers.  As  a  bit  of 
staging  it  was  very  effective,  but  I  saw  when  they 
were  being  carried  out  that  most  of  the  wreaths 
were  made  of  tin  flowers  painted.  I  suppose  they 
did  service  for  each   Revolutionary  burial. 

There  was  a  great  crowd,  but  people  talked 
very  low.  I  noticed  a  Christ-like  man  w-ith  long 
fair  curly  hair,  and  a  fair  beard  and  clear  blue 
eyes ;  he  was  quite  young.  I  asked  who  he  was. 
No  one  seemed  to  know:  "An  artist  of  sorts," 
some  one  suggested.  Not  all  the  people  with  won- 
derful heads  are  wonderful  people.      Mr.   Roth- 


1 62  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

« 

stein  and  I  followed  the  procession  to  the  grave, 
accompanied  by  a  band  playing  a  Funeral  March 
that  I  had  never  heard  before.  Whenever  that 
Funeral  March  struck  up  (and  it  had  a  tedious 
refrain)  every  one  uncovered — it  seemed  to  be  the 
only  thing  they  uncovered  for.  We  passed  across 
the  Place  de  la  Revolution,  and  through  the  sacred 
gate  to  the  Red  Square.  He  was  buried  under  the 
Kremlin  wall  next  to  all  the  Revolutionaries,  his 
Comrads.  As  a  background  to  his  grave  was  a 
large  Red  banner  nailed  upon  the  wall  with  the 
letters  in  gold  "The  leaders  die,  but  the  cause 
lives  on." 

When  I  was  first  told  this  was  the  burying 
ground  of  the  Revolutionaries  I  looked  in  vain 
for  graves — and  I  saw  only  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
or  so  of  green  grassy  bank.  There  was  not  a 
memorial,  a  headstone  or  a  sign,  not  even  an  in- 
dividual mound.  The  Communist  ideal  seemed 
to  have  been  realized  at  last:  the  Equality,  unat- 
tainable in  life,  the  equality  for  which  Christ  died, 
had  been  realizable  only  in  death. 

A  large  crowd  assembled  for  John  Reed's  burial 
and  the  occasion  was  one  for  speeches.  Bucharin 
and  Madame  Kolontai  both  spoke.  There  were 
speeches  in  English,  French,  German  and  Russian. 
It  took  a  very  long  time,  and  a  mixture  of  rain 
and  snow  was  falling.  Although  the  poor  widow 
fainted,  her  friends  did  not  take  her  away.     It 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       163 

was  extremely  painful  to  see  this  white-faced  un- 
conscious woman  lying  back  on  the  supporting  arm 
of  a  Foreign  Office  official,  more  interested  in  the 
speeches  than  in  the  human  agony. 

The  faces  of  the  crowd  around  betrayed  neither 
sympathy  nor  interest,  they  looked  on  unmoved. 
I  could  not  get  to  her,  as  I  was  outside  the  ring 
of  soldiers  who  stood  guard  nearly  shoulder  to 
shoulder. 

I  marvel  continuously  at  the  blank  faces  of  the 
Russian  people.  In  France  or  Italy  one  knows 
that  in  moments  of  sorrow  the  people  are  deeply 
moved,  their  arms  go  round  one,  and  their  sym- 
pathy is  overwhelming.  They  cry  with  our  sor- 
rows, they  laugh  with  our  joys.  But  Russia  seems 
numb.  I  wonder  if  it  has  always  been  so,  or 
whether  the  people  have  lived  through  years  of 
such  horror  that  they  have  become  insensible  to 
pain. 

Happily  no  salute  was  fired.  The  last  time 
the  machine  guns  rattled  at  a  burial  I  heard  them 
in  my  studio,  which  is  just  the  other  side  of  the 
wall.  On  that  occasion,  the  old  porter  who  takes 
care  of  me  at  the  Kremlin,  told  me  that  his  wife 
nearly  died  of  heart  failure.  She  thought  "the 
Whites"  had  come.  Probably  it  affects  other 
jumpy  people  in  the  same  way.  Here  the  terror 
of  the  Whites  is  as  great  as  on  the  other  side  the 
terror  of  the  Reds!     The  poor  people  don't  want 


1 64  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

any  more  fighting.     I  think  they  are  quite  indiffer- 
ent as  to  who  rules  them,  only  they  want  Peace. 

When  I  got  back  I  found  Maxim  Litvinoff  who 
also  had  been  at  the  funeral  and  had  looked  for 
me  in  the  crowd  in  vain.  He  says  he  has  ar- 
ranged with  Tchitcherin  that  I  am  to  begin  him  on 
the  morrow.  I  have  not  asked  to  do  him,  but  if 
it  is  all  arranged  for  me  I  am  only  too  delighted. 
But  I  do  not  look  forward  to  working  at  the 
Commissariat  for  Foreign  Affairs.  It  is  the  Hotel 
Metropole,  in  the  Place  de  la  Revolution,  and 
although  it  will  not  be  necessary  to  have  a  pass, 
and  there  will  be  none  of  the  sentry  difficulties, 
as  with  Lenin  and  Trotsky,  the  drain  smells  are 
such  that  one  climbs  the  stairs  two  at  a  time  hold- 
ing one's  breath!  There  are  bits  of  the  Kremlin 
that  are  enough  to  kill  the  healthiest  person,  but 
the  Metropole  baffles  all  description.  Inside  the 
offices  it  is  all  right,  but  the  double  windows  every- 
where are  hermetically  sealed  for  the  winter,  and 
I  wonder  that  people  do  not  die  like  flies.  Lit- 
vinoff tells  me  that  a  new  building  is  almost  ready 
and  that  the  next  time  I  come  to  Moscow  there 
will  be  a  beautiful  Commissariat.  It  is  curious  that 
Moscow  having  been  one  of  the  richest  cities  in 
the  world,  more  full  of  rich  merchants  than  al- 
most any  other,  that  something  more  was  not  done 
for  sanitation.  Last  year  owing  to  lack  of  fuel 
most  of  their  pipes  burst  in  the  town.    No  wonder 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       165 

there  was  an  epidemic  of  typhus.  This  year 
things  are  better  organized,  and  if  there  is  Peace 
on  the  two  fronts  conditions  may  be  enormously 
improved. 

This  evening  Comrad  Alexandre  took  me  to  a 
play.  He  gave  me  my  choice,  and  I  decided  that 
"La  fille  de  Madame  Angot,"  being  an  operette 
would  be  more  amusing  than  "Twelfth  Night"  in 
Russian.  It  was  at  the  Theatre  des  Arts,  where 
Chekhov's  plays  used  to  be  produced.  Chekhov  is 
no  longer  acted — he  wrote  for  a  class  that  is  tem- 
porarily extinct — the  workers  and  peasants  would 
not  understand  it.  Afterwards,  coming  home  in 
the  motor  I  noticed  a  tremendous  glare  in  the 
sky.  It  obviously  meant  a  fire,  and  I  insisted  on 
going  to  look  for  it.  If  the  fire,  when  found,  was 
disappointing,  at  least  the  search  for  it  was  in- 
teresting, and  revealed  to  me  the  unsuspected  size 
of  Moscow.  We  drove  through  miles  of  deserted 
streets,  where  we  met  only  a  few  soldiers  wearily 
trudging  through  the  mud.  We  shouted  to  them : 
"Tovarisch  !  where  is  the  fire?"  There  is  some- 
thing very  pleasant  in  hailing  a  complete  stranger 
as  a  Comrad — one  feels  at  once  a  link  of  friend- 
ship. The  Tovarisch,  however,  only  waved  vague- 
ly onwards,  which  is  the  only  instruction  one  ever 
gets  in  Moscow  when  one  asks  the  way!  On  we 
bumped  and  jolted  and  skidded.  There  was  an 
Icy  wind  blowing  and  we  had  no  rug.     We  seemed 


1 66  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

to  cross  two  rivers,  or  they  may  have  been  river 
branches.  Everything  looked  very  beautiful  in 
the  twilight.  There  was  no  parapet  to  the  river 
edge,  only  some  tortuous  tree  stems;  finally  we 
arrived  upon  the  scene.  It  was  to  find  that  some 
building  in  a  big  clearing  had  burnt  to  the  founda- 
tions, and  was  still  burning  brightly.  Having  got 
out  of  the  car  and  waded  through  the  mud  I  could 
not  get  anywhere  near,  and  I  abandoned  the  quest. 
A  party  of  men  returning  from  the  fire,  surprised 
at  our  having  a  motor,  asked  Alexandre  for  his 
identification  papers.  Happily  he  is  a  member  of 
the  Communist  party.  On  the  way  home  he  was 
anxious  lest  the  bad  road  should  cause  some 
damage  to  the  car.  If  it  broke  down,  he  explained 
cheerfully,  there  was  no  other  car  to  be  had  in 
these  parts,  and  no  telephone  to  call  one  up,  and 
too  far  to  walk  home.  It  was  snowing  and  we 
got  back  at  i  A.  M.  after  losing  the  way  many 
times. 

In  the  hall  I  was  met  by  Litvinoff,  who  while  I 
was  having  supper  told  me  he  had  a  message  from 
Trotsky  who  asked  if  I  would  be  ready  to  go  off 
to  the  front  on  the  morrow  at  4  P.  M.  I  had  to 
make  up  my  mind.  We  discussed  the  plan  in  all 
its  aspects.  Litvinoff  was  splendid,  he  advised  me 
neither  way,  he  merely  said  he  would  make  all 
arrangements  If  I  decided  to  go.  I  knew  that 
going  would  involve  cold  and  discomfort  and  I 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       167 

guessed  I  would  not  really  see  much  of  the  front, 
and  as  the  only  woman  I  would  be  most  conspicu- 
ous. Yet  .  .  .  what  a  temptation.  Finally  about 
3  A.  M.  for  various  reasons  I  decided  to  preserve 
Trotsky  as  a  memory.  Then  for  the  first  time 
Litvinoff  said,  "I  am  so  glad  .  .   ." 


October  25TH.     Moscow. 

Litvinoff  was  most  kind  and  helped  me  to  move 
my  clay  and  stand  from  the  Kremlin  to  the  For- 
eign Office.  I  would  have  liked  a  snapshot  of  our 
procession — the  moulder  carrying  the  clay  block, 
Litvinoff,  in  his  fur-lined  coat  and  sealskin  cap 
armed  with  the  modeling  stand,  and  I  following 
with  the  bucket  of  clay  and  cloths. 

On  arrival  at  the  Foreign  Office  we  were 
greeted  by  the  Chinese  General  in  uniform  and  all 
his  staff.  Litvinoff,  who  is  likely  to  be  the  Soviet 
representative  in  China,  was  rather  taken  aback 
by  this  rencontre  and  the  Chinese  enormously 
amused. 

Later,  at  9  p.  M.  I  returned  with  Litvinoff  to 
Tchitcherin's  office  to  begin  work.  While  Litvi- 
noff went  inside  I  waited  in  the  secretary's  room, 
and  while  I  was  waiting  a  man  hurried  through 
the  office.  He  was  a  little  man  in  brown  trousers 
and  a  coat  which  did  not  match.    With  small  steps 


i68  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

he  shuffled  hurriedly  along.  It  might  have  been 
a  night  watchman.     It  was  Tchitcherin. 

Still  I  waited,  and  the  length  of  my  wait  began 
to  annoy  me,  and  then  I  began  to  feel  something 
was  wrong.  Presently  Litvinoli  called  me,  but  I 
got  no  further  than  the  doorway. 

There  Tchitcherin  confronted  me,  and  in  hur- 
ried and  confused  tones  said,  "To-night  is  impos- 
siible,  quite,  quite  impossible  .  .  ."  and  disap- 
peared. He  had  not  even  allowed  me  to  cross 
his  threshold. 

Litvinoff  and  I  looked  at  each  other  and  walked 
out.  We  went  upstairs  to  Litvinoff's  office.  He 
was  obviously  upset  and  at  a  perfect  loss  to  ex- 
plain or  excuse.  I  sat  and  talked  until  the  car 
arrived  to  take  me  home,  and  from  what  Litvinoff 
said  and  from  what  I  had  seen  in  that  flash  I  have 
learned  something  of  the  personality  of  Tchitche- 
rin. 

He  is  an  abnormal  man,  living  month  after 
month  in  that  Foreign  Office  with  closed  windows 
and  never  going  out.  He  insists  on  having  a  bed- 
room there,  as  he  says  he  has  not  time  to  go 
home  to  sleep.  He  works  all  night,  and  if  a  tele- 
gram comes  in  the  day  he  has  to  be  awakened. 
His  nights  are  days  and  his  days  are  not  entirely 
nights.  He  has  no  idea  of  time  and  does  not 
realize  that  other  people  live  differently.  He  will 
ring  up  a  Comrad  on  the  telephone  at  3   or  4 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       169 

in  the  morning  for  the  most  trivial  information. 
He  does  all  his  own  work,  and  will  not  ring  for  a 
secretary  or  messenger,  but  runs  himself  with 
papers  to  other  departments.  He  lives  on  his 
nerves  and  the  slightest  thing  throws  him  off  his 
pivot. 

I  had  been  told  he  was  an  angel  and  a  saint. 
What  I  found  was  a  fluttering  and  agitated  bird. 
The  joke  is  that  he  is  looked  upon  as  the  "gen- 
tleman" of  the  party.  He  is  by  origin  well  born 
and  propertied.  His  property  he  gave  away  to 
the  people.  To-day  was  a  particularly  unfortu- 
nate one  for  me.  It  happened  to  be  the  first  day 
in  months  that  Tchitcherin  had  gone  out.  He 
went  to  the  dentist.  Some  one  watching  him  from 
an  office  window  described  to  me  the  phenomenon 
of  Tchitcherin  in  the  street.  He  did  not  go  in  a 
car,  but  on  foot.  He  stood  at  the  corner  of  the 
curb,  looked  at  the  street  hesitatingly,  much  as 
one  might  look  into  a  river  on  a  cold  day  before 
plunging  in.  When  he  did  finally  decide  to  get 
across  he  got  half  way  and  then  ran  back.  What 
with  the  trafl'ic,  the  fresh  air,  and  the  dentist,  it 
must  have  been  a  thoroughly  unncr\ing  day  for 
him,  and  no  wonder  he  received  me  so  ill ! 

October  26th,  Moscow. 
Tchitcherin  sent  me  a  message  through  Litvi- 
noff  inviting  me  to  do  him  at  4  in  the  morning,  as 


I70  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

this  is  his  quietest  time,  but  it  is  unfortunately  my 
quietest  time  too. 


October  29TH,  Friday.     Moscow. 

I  have  had  4  inactive  days,  but  the  sense  of 
work,  completed  is  a  great  relief.  I  have  drifted 
about  with  Andreef  and  in  his  spare  moments  with 
Maxim  Litvinoff.  On  his  way  to  work  at  mid- 
day he  first  takes  me  in  his  car  to  the  place  I  want 
to  photograph.  At  5  o'clock  he  comes  back  and 
has  tea  with  me,  brings  his  portfolio  and  works  in 
my  room  till  7.  Then  he  starts  out  again  to  meet- 
ings. I  have  interesting  talks  with  him,  and  learn 
a  good  deal.  He  smiles  tolerantly  when  my 
bourgeois  breeding  breaks  out.  But  he  says  I  am 
getting  better.  Even  Rothstein  has  grown  to 
treat  me  more  seriously. 

To-day  my  fourth  day  of  rest  began  to  rouse 
in  me  a  fresh  energy.  I  long  to  fill  in  this  interim 
of  waiting  with  some  new  work.  I  have  offered 
to  do  Litvinoff,  and  he  suggests  that  I  work  in 
his  office.  This  is  so  difficult  that  I  have  asked  him 
to  let  me  do  it  at  home,  in  odd  moments  when  he 
is  free.  Between  the  two  nothing  gets  decided. 
Meanwhile  the  sentries  at  the  Kremlin  gate  have 
fired  my  enthusiasm.  They  are  magnificent,  wrap- 
ped around  in  goat  skin  coats  with  collars  that  en- 
velop their  entire  heads.     My  efforts  to  get  such 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       171 

an  one  to  sit  to  me  has  at  last  been  successful. 
Andreef  and  I  wandered  from  building  to  build- 
ing this  morning  to  accomplish  this  purpose. 
Andreef  is  great  fun  to  explore  with.  He  has  a 
"Je  m'en  fichiste"  air,  opens  all  the  doors  he 
comes  to,  and  walks  in  everywhere.  I  see  all  sorts 
of  places  that  I  would  never  dare  to  investigate 
alone. 

We  walked  boldly  into  the  barracks.  I  doubt  if 
a  woman  had  been  in  before,  but  I  did  not  attract 
much  attention.  A  few  soldiers  gathered  round 
us  to  hear  our  explanation  to  the  officer  in  charge. 
One  or  two  smiled,  the  rest  looked  at  me  blankly! 
What  Andreef  said  of  course  I  don't  know,  ex- 
cept I  understood  the  officer  to  ask  if  we  were 
Bolshevik.  Apparently  if  we  were  not  Bolsheviks 
we  must  get  permission  from  the  Commandant  of 
the  Kremlin  before  a  soldier  could  be  sent  to^-me. 
Off  we  went  in  search  of  the  Commandant.  Oh ! 
the  dark  passages,  and  the  stuffy  offices.  They 
smelt  as  if  the  air  belonged  to  bygone  ages.  I 
am  sure  no  fresh  air  ever  leaks  in.  From  there  to 
the  military  store  to  obtain  an  overcoat.  They 
lent  me  a  new  one.  It  was  an  enormous  goat- 
skin. More  smells!  No  living  goat  ever  could 
have  smelt  stronger.  Andreef  staggering  under 
the  weight  and  the  unwieldy  size,  carried  it  to  my 
studio  to   await  the  soldier's  arrival  to-morrow. 


172  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

The  room  reeks  of  it.  My  Idea  Is  a  statuette,  only 
in  Russia  one  could  find  such  a  silhouette. 

It  was  still  early  and  I  did  not  want  to  go  home, 
so  we  wandered  to  the  Palace,  opened  more  doors, 
and  after  a  little  conversation  with  some  men  in 
an  office,  one  of  them  took  us  to  see  the  Museum 
and  the  Armory.  This  was  a  grea't  revelation, 
and  I  regretted  not  ha-ving  seen  it  before,  so  that 
I  could  have  had  time  to  go  often  again.  Our 
guide  spoke  French,  and  knew  all  the  things  in- 
timately. He  talked  of  them  with  pride  and  al- 
most with  love.  The  things  were  beautifully  ar- 
ranged. There  were  glass  ca&es  full  of  Romanoff 
crowns,  jewel  studded,  and  scepters,  and  harness 
and  trappings  set  with  prec-iou-s  stones.  One  really 
got  quite  bewildered  by  the  dazzlement  of  them. 
The  armor  is  very  fine,  I  believe,  but  that  I  know 
nothing  about  and  it  does  not  interest  me.    What 

I  loved  were  the  old  coaches.  There  was  one 
given  by  Queen  Elizabeth  of  England,  the  most 
beautiful  bit  of  painted  Jacobean  carving  I  have 
ever  seen.  The  French  Louis  XV  and  XVI 
coaches  looked  vulgar  next  to  it.  There  was  a 
room  full  of  silver  and  gold  cups.  I  believe  this 
contains  the  finest  collection  of  English  Charles 

II  silver  in  the  world.  Moreover  so  many  chalices 
ha-d  been  collected  recently  from  the  Churches 
that  there  were  long  wooden  trestles  covered  with 
these,    and   they   were   in  process   of   being   cat- 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       173 

alogued.  In  the  furthest  room  were  exhibited  all 
the  old  costumes,  Church  vestments,  and  beautiful 
brocades.  The  Coronation  robe  of  Catherine  the 
Great  was  there,  and  others  that  had  been  wed- 
ding and  Coronation  robes  of  various  other  Czar- 
inas. It  is  wonderful  that  these  things  have  re- 
mained unhurt  throughout  the  Revolution. 


October  30TH.    Moscow. 

It  is  acutely  cold.  The  river  is  completely 
frozen  over.  Children  skate  and  toboggan  every- 
where. The  sidewalks  have  become  slides,  and 
are  very  difficult  for  the  pedestrian  who  is  not 
equipped  with  skates.  Children  here  seem  to  be 
born  able  to  skate.  They  strap  them  on  to  any 
kind  of  foot-gear,  even  on  to  big  loose,  felt  boots, 
and  they  skate  everywhere  at  breakneck  speed. 

It  is  a  relief  not  to  see  people  wearily  carrying 
their  bundles  over  their  shoulders.  Now  every 
one  seems  to  have  put  his  burdens  on  to  a  little 
wooden  sledge,  and  grown  up  people  look  like 
big  children  pulling  toys  on  the  end  of  strings.  I 
have  borrowed  clothes  and  Jaegers  from  my 
friends.  One's  nostrils  freeze  and  the  breath 
cry^stallizes  on  one's  fur  collar. 

The  town  with  its  white  pall  is  indescribably 
beautiful.  At  dusk  the  sky  is  darkened  by  a  flight 
of  gray-backed  crows.     They  settle  on  the  bare 


174  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

tree  branches  with  the  effect  of  great  black  leaves 
silhouetted  against  a  colored  evening  sky. 

At  8 :30  this  evening  Kamenev  unexpectedly 
walked  into  my  room.  It  is  nearly  three  weeks 
since  he  went  to  the  front.  He  was  in  tremendous 
spirits,  much  thinner,  quite  unshaved  and  his  hair 
long!  He  was  interesting  about  the  spirit  of  the 
Red  Army.  He  says  they  are  wonderfully  en- 
thusiastic and  anxious  to  finish  Wrangel,  and  have 
peace.  It  is  just  possible  there  may  be  a  big 
"coup"  which  would  obviate  a  winter  campaign. 

More  than  ever  do  I  regret  not  going  with 
Trotsky,  They  met  at  Karkof  and  I  could  have 
come  back  with  Kamenev. 


October  31ST.  Moscow. 
I  went  to  the  Kremlin  and  tried  to  work  on  my 
soldier  who  came  to  sit  to  me,  but  the  clay  gets 
so  cold  and  my  fingers  so  numbed,  I  find  I  can- 
not do  anything.  I  build  up  such  a  big  fire  in  the 
stove  to  keep  myself  warm  that  the  unfortunate 
soldier  in  the  overcoat  gets  nearly  apoplectic. 
Moreover,  the  hot  goatskin  smells  stronger  and 
stronger.  Even  the  soldier  seems  to  be  affected 
by  it.  We  cannot  open  the  windows  and  let  the 
cold  in.  These  conditions  make  work  very  dis- 
couraging.   Andreef  fetched  me  at  12:30  and  we 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       175 

went  to  the  House  of  Shuken,  who  was  a  cotton 
king,  and  who  had  the  biggest  collection  of  modern 
French  pictures  that  exists.  It  is  now  taken  over 
by  the  Government  and  opened  several  days  a 
week  to  the  public.  Madame  Shuken  is  I  believe 
allowed  to  occupy  her  rooms  in  the  house.  There 
is  no  such  modern  collection  in  France.  There 
were  represented  all  the  artists  I  have  been  want- 
ing to  see.  The  first  room  was  mostly  full  of 
Claude  Monet,  and  there  were  three  little  Whis- 
tlers in  the  doorway  leading  to  a  room  full  of 
Degas,  Renoir,  and  Cezanne. 

To-day  for  the  first  time,  I  can  appreciate  Mat- 
isse; there  were  twenty-one  in  a  room.  Next  to 
this  was  another  room,  with  twenty  Gauguins.  In 
a  further  gallery  there  was  a  motley  collection  in- 
cluding a  couple  of  Brangwyns  which  held  their 
own  well.  There  was  also  the  big  William  Morris 
tapestry  of  Burne-Jones'  "Nativity"  which  one 
could  hardly  bear  to  look  at  after  the  modern 
French, 

Coming  out,  we  passed  by  a  rudely  painted 
doorway  in  the  snow  painted  in  blotches  of  green 
and  yellow.  A  sentry  stood  by.  I  pointed  it  out 
to  Andreef  who  agreed  that  it  was  pure  Matisse. 
One  has  but  to  borrow  the  eyes  of  another  and 
the  same  old  world  appears  quite  different.  I 
remember  when  I  had  been  in  Florence  a  few 
days,  every  one  looked  like  a  Madonna! 


176  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

This  evening  Litvinoff  gave  a  banquet  for  the 
departing  Chinese  General.  It  was  a  great  event. 
The  dishes  as  they  appeared  were  like  things  we 
have  seen  in  dreams.  The  party  consisted,  be- 
sides the  General  and  three  of  his  staff,  of  two  in- 
terpreters (one  being  the  professor  of  Chinese 
at  the  University  of  Petrograd),  Tchitcherin, 
Karahan,  his  secretary,  Mrs.  Karahan,  Vanderlip, 
Rothstein  and  myself. 

We  were  invited  for  9  P.  M.,  but  it  was  half  past 
eleven  before  we  began,  true  Russian  fashion,  two 
hours  and  a  half  late.  It  was  for  Tchitcherin  we 
had  to  wait;  he  has  no  idea  of  time. 

The  hours  preceding  were  rather  tedious,  as 
conversation  through  an  interpreter  is  not  a  suc- 
cess. One  Chinaman  talked  F'rench.  He  was  the 
President  of  the  Union  of  Chinese  Workers. 

Karahan  is  Armenian.  He  speaks  some  strange 
Eastern  language,  but  nothing  that  I  understand. 
His  wife  can  talk  only  Russian.  They  live  in  our 
house  but  one  seldom  sees  them.  They  have  their 
meals  in  their  own  apartments.  He  is  very  beauti- 
ful, his  face  is  like  carved  ivory.  He  is  a  great 
mystery,  he  lives  in  a  better  way  than  any  one 
else,  smokes  the  best  cigars,  drives  to  his  office 
in  a  limousine,  and  looks  like  the  most  prosper- 
ous gentleman  in  Europe  in  his  astrachan  coat  and 
hat.  He  must  do  some  very  good  work  for  the 
Government,   or  he  would  not  be   tolerated.      I 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       177 

believe  Lenin  once  asked  what  was  the  use  of  him, 
and  he  was  told  that  Karahan  was  most  impor- 
tant. Was  he  not  the  only  man  amongst  them 
who  could  wear  evening  clothes? 

At  dinner  I  sat  between  the  President  of  the 
Union  of  Chinese  Workers  and  Litvinoff,  who  did 
host  extremely  well  and  was  clever  in  placing  us 
all.  He  created  so  many  places  of  honor  that 
every  one  was  gratified.  He  put  Tchitcherin  at 
the  head  of  the  table  so  that  the  General  and 
Vanderlip  on  cither  side  of  him  felt  they  were 
guests  of  honor.  He  put  me  one  side  of  him 
and  Mrs.  Karahan  at  the  end  of  the  table  op- 
posite Tchitcherin. 

I  ate  so  many  excellent  hors  d'oeuvres,  think- 
ing I  was  never  going  to  eat  again  and  that 
nothing  else  was  coming,  that  I  had  little  room  left 
for  anything  else.  It  was  a  joy  even  to  look  at 
a  fresh  salad  and  cauliflower. 

Our  old  man  servant  was  awfully  happy.  He 
had  on  a  collar  and  tie  and  was  washed,  and  had 
organized  everything  beautifully.  He  had  got 
out  the  Sevres  salt-cellars  and  the  cut-glass  de- 
canters and  I  suppose  he  just  felt  he  was  back 
in  the  old  pre-Revolution  days  and  serving  his 
master's  friends.     He  took  intense  pride  in  it  all. 

We  had  our  jokes  with  him  as  he  went  by. 
Handing  me  a  dish  of  bucuf  a  la  mode,  he  said, 


178  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

"inaffnifiquef"  Litvinoff  was  reprimanded  by  him 
for  using  his  knife  for  his  vegetables,  and  was  told 
he  would  not  get  another.  When  the  apple  dump- 
lings came  round  I  was  done.  I  said  to  the  old 
man,  "Zafter"  (to-morrow).  I  do  hope  we  get 
some  remains.  I  asked  Litvinoff  where  all  the 
food  had  come  from.  He  explained  to  me  that 
there  is  some  food  to  be  had  but  that  the  best  is 
sent  to  the  hospitals  and  the  children. 

Then  followed  speeches.  Anything  more  de- 
plorable to  listen  to  without  understanding  than 
Russian  being  translated  into  Chinese  and  vice 
versa  is  hard  to  imagine.  Tchitcherin  spoke  for 
quite  a  long  time.  The  Chinese  General's  face 
was  immovable.  After  the  professor  had  trans- 
lated, the  General  replied  with  much  the  same  sort 
of  face. 

After  dinner  we  adjourned  to  the  Karahans'  big 
rooms  opposite.  Tchitcherin  was  evidently  em- 
barrassed at  meeting  me  again.  I  had  no  feeling 
on  the  subject,  and  merely  laughed. 

I  said  jokingly,  "Comrad  Tchitcherin,  you 
have  treated  me  very  badly." 

He  was  again  quite  flustered. 

Litvinoff  told  me  apropos  of  Tchitcherin  that 
he  had  advised  him  to  get  some  one  extra  into  his 
office  to  help  to  get  his  papers  straight.  Tchit- 
cherin agreed,  and  said  that  he  had  already  heard 
of  a  young  man  who  would  do  very  well  because 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       179 

"he  works  during  the  day,  so  he  is  free  at  night." 
Litvinoff  asked  when  the  man  should  sleep.  Tchit- 
cherin  looked  surprised;  he  had  forgotten  about 
that  I 

November  2nd,  1920. 
Felt  ill.  Symptoms  of  abdominal  typhus.  Panic 
on  the  part  of  my  friends.  They  say  they  do  not 
want  to  lay  my  body  under  the  Kremlin  wall.  If 
they  do,  I  have  told  them  I  don't  mind  speeches, 
but  would  like  a  prayer.  The  answer  to  that  was, 
"Are  you  really  croyante?" 

"Well,"  I  said,  "there  are  two  children  praying 

every  night  that  I  may  return  safe  and  soon,  and 

the  thought  of  that  gives  me  a  certain  security." 

"What !  you  teach  your  children  to  pray?" 

"But  surely  they  must  have  something  to  guide 

them  as  they  start  life?" 

"You  should  teach  them  reality,  and  not  fan- 
tasy." 

"It  is  not  fantasy  to  believe  in  a  Divine  power." 
"You  should  believe  only  in  your  own  power." 
That  is  a  conversation  I  have  had  as  a  result  of 
my  slight  indisposition.  It  was  a  conversation 
that  confirms  the  general  idea  I  have  met  in  others 
since  I  have  been  here.  I  know  these  men  are 
idealists  and  selfless.  I  did  not  know  these  quali- 
ties could  go  hand  in  hand  with  atheism. 

On  this  point  Litvinoff  corrected  me.     He  did 


i8o  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

not  even  want  to  be  regarded  as  an  idealist.  That 
was  too  unpractical.  "We  are  idealistic  material- 
ists," he  said.  To  prove  their  tolerance  of  re- 
ligious thought,  the  churches  are  all  open.  But 
to  enter  the  sacred  gateway  which  leads  to  the 
Red  Square  it  was  necessary  in  pre-Revolutionary 
days  for  men  to  pass  uncovered.  A  tablet  has  now 
been  inserted  in  the  wall  engraved  with  the  in- 
scription, "Religion  is  the  opiate  of  the  people." 
Hardly  ever  have  I  passed  that  by  without  having 
it  pointed  out  to  me  with  great  pride.  I  never 
quite  understood  the  spirit  of  it. 

And  as  for  the  people,  they  seem  to  disregard 
it,  to  judge  by  the  many  who  cross  themselves  as 
they  pass.  The  shrine  seems  to  be  always  full 
of  devotees,  who  pause  to  pray.  The  religious  feel- 
ing of  the  people  will  not  easily  be  obliterated  and 
after  all,  they  need  all  the  comfort  and  hope  they 
can  get,  even  if  the  intellectuals  do  not. 

My  stay  in  Russia  is  nearing  its  end.  Already 
I  see  my  departure  in  the  near  distance.  People 
at  home  will  think  I  am  a  Bolshevist,  on  account 
of  my  associations,  but  I  am  much  too  humble  to 
pretend  I  understand  anything  about  it. 

The  more  I  hear,  the  clearer  it  seems  to  me  that 
economics  are  the  basis  of  all  these  arguments, 
and  when  it  is  a  question  of  political  economy 
something  happens  to  my  mind,  just  as  it  used  to 
when  I  was  a  child  and  had  to  learn  arithmetic.    A 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       i8i 

Bolshevist  who  can  be  defeated  by  argument  Is 
not  worthy  of  the  name.  Therefore  I  am  not  a 
Bolshevist. 

But  I  have  tried  to  understand  the  spirit  of 
Communism  and  It  Interests  me  overwhelmingly. 
There  are  little  Incidents  I  like  to  recall  that  con- 
tribute In  no  way  to  lessen  my  love  of  the  people. 
As  for  Instance,  when  the  weather  began  to  get 
cold  before  Borodin  went  away,  and  unable  to  ex- 
plain In  Russian  what  I  wanted,  I  went  myself  to 
the  back  garden  to  fetch  an  armload  of  logs  for 
my  fire. 

I  had  to  make  a  long  journey  through  the 
kitchen  down  the  corridors  and  finally  through  the 
drawing  room.  I  have  never  minded  carrying  my 
own  wood,  but  I  did  think  that  the  two  men — 
Borodin,  who  was  telephoning,  and  Boris,  who 
was  Idling  in  a  Louis  XVI  chair,  as  I  passed 
through  the  drawing  room,  might  have  opened 
the  doors  for  me. 

Because  they  did  not,  I  most  unforgivably  lost 
my  temper,  and  said  I  was  glad  I  was  an  English 
woman,  and  not  a  Russian  man.  The  effect  of  my 
attack  was  different  on  each  of  them. 

Boris  said,  "But  it  Is  quite  right  you  should 
carry  your  own  wood.  Communism  means  each 
should  help  himself." 

I  replied  that  that  was  nothing  new,  that  self- 
help   was   the   oldest  deep-rooted   feeling   In   the 


1 82  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

world  and  that  if  Communism  wanted  to  be  orig- 
inal it  must  teach  the  doctrine  of  helping  the 
other. 

Borodin  followed  me  to  my  room  in  a  state 
of  apology  and  distress.  He  brought  me  two 
apples  and  a  cigarette,  and  told  me  that  if  I  peeled 
the  birch  bark  off  the  logs,  it  made  an  excellent 
substitute  for  kindling.  With  his  advice  he  did 
much  to  help  me  light  my  fire.  I  have  never  quite 
made  out  in  my  own  mind  if  they  were  typically 
Russian  or  t>^pically  Communist.  I  am  still 
wondering. 

I  was  much  laughed  at  once  because  I  made 
Vanderlip  in  the  street  shoulder  a  woman's  burden 
and  carry  it  for  her  to  the  woman's  house.  She 
was  a  frail  well-dressed  woman,  obviously  ex- 
hausted by  a  long  walk  ov^er  cobblestones,  and  was 
utterly  incompetent  to  carry  the  bundle  contain- 
ing her  rations.  I  would  have  taken  it  for  her 
myself  if  I  had  been  alone,  but  as  Vanderlip  was 
champion-in-chief  of  the  frail  and  the  well- 
dressed,  I  thought  he  might  as  well  do  it.  Litvi- 
noff  was  awfully  amused  when  he  heard  about  it, 
and  said  that  Vanderlip  might  really  find  a  good 
deal  of  work  to  do  in  Moscow  on  those  lines. 

Vanderlip  one  day  told  me  with  great  concern 
that  a  weak  little  bourgeoise  friend  of  his,  once 
rich,  but  now  a  stenographer,  had  received  a 
paper  ordering  her  to  enlist  her  services  among 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       183 

those  who  are  to  shovel  the  street  clear  of  snow 
in  front  of  their  doors. 

"Terrible,"  he  said. 

"Why  terrible?"  I  asked. 

"Terrible  that  a  woman,  well-bred,  and  unused 
to  manual  labor,  should  be  called  upon  to  shovel 


snow." 


"But,"  I  argued,  "she  had  better  food  and  care 
when  young  than  the  working  classes,  and  ought, 
therefore,  to  be  physically  stronger  and  more  able 
to  do  this  work  than  many  another." 

(I  thought  of  some  of  my  friends  in  England 
a  year  ago  in  the  strike  who  made  most  efficient 
railway  porters.) 

I  said  I  would  take  pride  if  I  were  a  Russian 
bourgeoise  in  showing  people  here  that  I  could  do 
as  good  a  day's  work  as  any  one  else,  and  that  I 
was  not  useless  and  helpless  as  they  imagined. 

Vanderlip  disagreed.  He  said  (and  I  wonder 
if  it  is  the  American  point  of  view)  that  women 
ought  not  to  work  at  all ;  they  ought  to  be  worked 
for. 

It  was  quite  useless  to  talk  to  him  about  co- 
operation or  the  economic  independence  of 
women.  Besides,  it  was  not  about  women,  it  was 
about  Communism  that  I  wanted  to  talk. 

Vanderlip  is  a  source  of  some  merriment  to  the 
Communists.  He  has  discovered  a  shop  in  Mos- 
cow  that  is   allowed   to   sell    the   only  remaining 


1 84  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

things  the  government  has  not  requisitioned.  They 
are  birds  of  paradise.  He  has  bought  yellow  ones, 
black  ones,  and  white  ones  of  every  conceivable 
description.  He  has  written  checks  for  more 
roubles  than  the  Soviet  Bank  can  find  notes  for. 
Rumor  says  he  will  have  to  wait  three  weeks  until 
they  print  more  notes.  All  Moscow  has  heard  of 
the  purchase.  It  seems  to  me  to  be  emblematical 
of  all  he  stands  for,  and  of  all  the  women  "who 
do  not  work,  but  are  worked  for,"  who  will  re- 
ceive  them. 

How  long  and  how  rambling  this  is  as  the  re- 
sult of  no  occupation  and  an  enforced  stay  within 
doors.  It  is  useless  to  write  letters  home,  and  this 
is  a  sort  of  unburdening.  I  often  wonder  about 
my  family — whether  they  are  anxious  about  me 
(knowing  nothing  of  the  peaceful  truth),  or 
whether  they  are  too  disapproving  to  be  anxious. 

I  love  the  bedrock  of  things,  here,  and  the 
vital  energy.  If  I  had  no  children  I  would  remain 
and  work.  There  may  be  no  food  for  the  body, 
but  there  is  plenty  of  food  for  the  soul,  and  I 
would  rather  live  in  discomfort  in  an  atmosphere 
of  gigantic  effort,  than  in  luxury  among  the  pur- 
poseless. I  find  I  no  longer  dream  of  home,  and 
have  grown  used  to  conditions  which  at  first 
seemed  hard.  I  am  thankful  for  the  peace  which 
I  once  mistook  for  dullness,  and  appreciate  the 
absence  of  all  the  petty  tyrannies  of  civilized  life. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       185 

My  mode  of  living  suits  me  very  well.  I  am  glad 
not  to  have  to  take  any  part  in  the  management 
of  a  house.  I  prefer  bad  food  than  being  con- 
sulted about  it.  What  the  housemaid  breaks  is 
not  mine,  nor  any  concern  of  mine.  There  are 
no  boredoms  such  as  gas  bills,  taxes,  rent  and 
rates,  or  Income  Tax  returns.  I  never  have  to 
sign  a  check,  nor  go  out  with  a  purse.  The  ob- 
literation of  all  social  life  is  a  boon.  There  are 
no  invitations  by  telephone  to  accept,  refuse,  or 
make  decisions  about.  There  is  no  perplexity 
about  the  choice  of  apparel,  nor  letters  by  post 
that  have  to  be  answered.  There  is  leisure  to 
read,  leisure  to  think,  leisure  to  observe.  The  big 
ideas,  wide  horizons  and  destruction  of  all  the 
conventions  have  taken  hold  of  me.  Of  course  I 
realize  that  as  a  guest  of  the  government  I  am 
judging  things  from  a  personal  point  of  view,  and 
not  the  point  of  view  of  the  Russian  people.  (Few 
of  us  are  big  enough  to  be  purely  impersonal.)  I 
like  living  in  this  way.  It  may  seem  a  strange 
taste  to  those  people  who  have  the  sense  of  pos- 
session, the  collectors'  instinct,  or  the  need  of  a 
fixed  home.  I  have  none  of  these.  So  long  as  I 
have  a  place  to  work  in,  and  plenty  of  work  to  do, 
and  leisure  in  which  to  think  about  it  I  ask  little 
more. 

My  ear  has  accustomed  itself  to  the  language 
of  Communism,  I  have  forgotten  the  English  of 


1 86  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

my  own  world.  I  do  not  mean  that  I  am  a  Com- 
munist, nor  that  I  think  it  is  a  practical  theory, 
but  it  seems  to  me,  nevertheless,  that  the  Rus- 
sian people  get  a  good  many  priv^ileges  gratis, 
such  as  education,  lodging,  food,  railways,  the- 
aters, even  postage,  and  a  standard  wage  thrown 
in.  If  the  absence  of  prosperity  is  marked, 
the  absence  of  poverty  is  remarkable.  The  peo- 
ple's sufferings  are  chiefly  caused  by  lack  of  food, 
fuel  and  clothing.  This  is  not  the  fault  of  the 
Government.  The  Soviet  system  does  not  do  it  to 
spite  them,  or  because  it  enjoys  their  discomfiture. 
Only  Peace  with  the  world  can  ameliorate  their 
sufferings,  and  Russia  is  not  at  war  with  the  world, 
the  world  is  at  war  with  Russia.  Why  am  I  happy 
here  shut  off  from  all  I  belong  to?  What  is  there 
about  this  country  that  has  always  made  every  one 
fall  under  its  spell?  I  have  been  wondering.  My 
mind  conjures  up  English  life  and  English  con- 
ditions, and  makes  comparisons.  Why  are  these 
people  who  hav-e  less  education  so  much  more 
cultured  than  we  are?  The  galleries  of  London 
are  empty.  In  the  British  Museum  one  meets  an 
occasional  German  student.  Here  the  galleries 
and  museums  are  full  of  working  people.  London 
provides  revues  and  plays  of  humiliating  medioc- 
rity, which  the  educated  classes  enjoy  and  ap- 
plaud. Here  the  masses  crowd  to  see  Shake- 
speare.    At  Covent  Garden  it  is  the  gallery  that 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       187 

cares  for  music,  and  the  boxes  are  full  of  weary 
fashion,  who  arrive  late  and  talk  all  the  time. 
Here  the  houses  are  overcrowded  with  workers, 
and  peasants  who  listen  to  the  most  classical 
operas.  Have  they  only  gone  as  some  one  might 
with  a  new  sense  of  possession  to  inspect  a 
property  they  have  suddenly  inherited?  Or  have 
they  a  true  love  of  the  beautiful,  and  a  real  power 
of  discrimination?  These  are  the  questions  I  ask 
myself.  Civilization  has  put  on  so  many  garments 
that  one  has  trouble  In  getting  down  to  reality. 
One  needs  to  throw  off  civilization  and  begin  anew, 
and  begin  better,  and  all  it  needs  is  just  courage. 
What  Lenin  thinks  about  nations  applies  to  In- 
dividuals. Before  reconstruction  can  take  place 
there  must  be  a  Revolution  to  obliterate  every- 
thing in  one  that  existed  before.  I  am  appalled  by 
the  realization  of  my  upbringing  and  futile  view- 
point instilled  In  me  by  an  obsolete  class  tradition. 
Time  is  the  most  valuable  material  in  the  world, 
and  there  at  least  we  all  start  equally,  but  I  was 
taught  to  scatter  mine  thoughtlessly,  as  though 
it  were  infinite.  Now  for  the  first  time  I  feel 
morally  and  mentally  free,  and  yet  they  say  there 
is  no  freedom  here.  If  a  paper  pass  or  an  identifi- 
cation card  hampers  one's  freedom,  then  it  Is 
true.  There  may  be  restrictions  to  the  individual 
— and  if  I  were  a  Russian  subject  I  might  not  be 
allowed  to  leave  the  country,  but  I  seem  to  have 


1 88  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

been    obliged    to   leave    England    rather    clandes- 
tinely !  1 

Freedom  is  an  illusion.  There  really  is  not  any 
in  the  world,  only  the  freedom  one  creates  intellec- 
tually for  one's  self. 

My  work  is  ended,  but  I  am  loath  to  go.  I 
love  this  place.  I  love  the  people  who  pass  by 
me  in  the  street.  I  love  the  atmosphere  laden 
with  melancholy,  with  sacrifice,  with  tragedy.  I 
am  inspired  by  this  Nation  purified  by  Fire.  I  ad- 
mire the  dignity  of  their  suffering  and  the  courage 
of  their  belief. 

I  would  like  to  live  among  them  forever,  or 
else  work  for  them  outside ;  work  and  fight  for  the 
Peace  that  will  heal  their  wounds. 


November  5th,  1920.  Moscow. 
A  message  has  arrived  third  hand  from  Kalinin 
offering  to  sit  to  me.  He  promised  to  a  long  time 
ago,  before  he  went  to  the  front.  He  got  back 
from  the  front  on  October  30th  with  Kamenev, 
and  had  he  given  me  the  chance  then  there  would 
hav^e  been  plenty  of  time.  Now  everything  is 
settled  for  me  to  go  to-morrow  with  Professor 
Lomonosoff  in  his  special  train.  I  am  very  dis- 
appointed. Kalinin  has  a  head  that  interests  me. 
I  have  wanted  to  do  a  Russian  peasant  type,  and 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       189 

he  is  one.  But  if  I  don't  get  away  in  Lomonosoff's 
train  I  may  delay  a  long  time.  England  seems  so 
very  far  away,  and  the  children  think  I  have  for- 
gotten them.  Perhaps  if  I  could  work  without  my 
fingers  getting  frozen  I  would  stop  and  do  him, 
and  do  LitvinofI  too.  But  I  have  made  a  failure 
of  my  soldier,  and  it  is  not  encouraging.  An  ap- 
pointment was  made  for  me  with  Kalinin  at  i 
o'clock  to  see  him  in  his  office.  Litvinoff  kindly 
took  me  there.  It  was  in  some  building  facing 
the  Kremlin.  We  went  in  and  after  some  search- 
ing, and  enquiry,  found  the  outer  rooms  of  his 
office.  There  seemed  to  be  two  or  three  of  these, 
and  they  were  full  of  people  sitting  on  benches 
round  the  wall.  Some  looked  miserable,  and 
were  curled  up  in  a  heap  with  shawls  over  their 
heads,  others  were  sleeping  in  corners,  or  huddled 
up  by  the  stove.  They  spat  on  the  floor,  smoked 
and  were  perfectly  silent.  These  were  all  people 
who  came  with  a  grievance  to  lay  before  their 
President.  Litvinoff  when  he  went  in  asked 
whether  it  was  Kalinin's  office — a  nod  and  a  grunt 
assented  that  it  was.  Litvinoff,  who  is  impatient, 
went  from  room  to  room,  but  we  could  find  no 
trace  of  Kalinin.  Finally  he  opened  a  door  that 
proved  to  be  the  private  office.  A  short  haired 
girl  secretary  looked  up  and  said  Kalinin  might 
come  in  half  an  hour.  So  he  might,  but  with  an 
experience    of    Russian    official    appointments,    it 


I90  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

seemed  likely  that  he  might  not  appear  for  a 
couple  of  hours.  We  left  messages  and  retreated. 
On  our  way  out  some  one,  rousing  himself  from 
a  corner,  asked  whether  Kalinin  was  really  in  his 
room  or  not.  Perhaps  they  thought  we  were  priv- 
ileged people,  while  they  were  kept  waiting.  I 
was  rather  glad  that  we  could  say  he  was  not 
there.  I  came  away  with  a  melancholy  impres- 
sion of  the  place,  but  Kalinin  with  his  kindly  face, 
must  be  the  best  sort  of  man  to  whom  the  people 
can  tell  their  troubles. 

We  then  drove  to  the  statue  of  Dostoyevski, 
which  is  a  beautiful  bit  of  work  in  granite  that  I 
wanted  to  photograph.  In  the  same  square  there 
is  another  granite  statue  by  the  same  artist,  which 
is  usually  known  as  "The  Thinker."  It  is  if  any- 
thing better  than  the  Dostoyevski. 

From  there  I  went  to  the  Kremlin  to  see  how 
the  packing  of  my  heads  was  progressing.  I  was 
surprised  to  find  that  the  wooden  cases  had  been 
deliverejd,  owing,  no  doubt,  to  the  combined  efforts 
of  Kamenev,  Litvinoff,  Andreef  and  my  kind 
Comrad  Ynachidse,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow. 
Moreover,  the  heads  were  packed,  there  was 
nothing  for  me  to  do.  I  said  good-by  very  sadly 
to  my  nice  moulder  whom  I  like  so  much.  He  is 
intelligent,  well-mannered,  and  efficient.  He  bent 
down  and  kissed  my  hand  with  the  simplicity  and 
dignity  of  a  prince.     I  gave  him  a  woolen  jersey, 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       191 

as  he  feels  the  cold,  and  with  all  his  thousands  of 
roubles  that  he  earns  he  cannot  buy  such  a  thing. 
I  gave  one  last  look  round  the  grim  room  to  which 
I  have  become  attached,  and  with  a  lump  in  my 
throat  departed  down  the  long  stone  passage 
through  which  my  footsteps  reechoed  for  the 
last  time. 

Then  I  crossed  the  courtyard  and  went  to  lunch 
at  the  Kremlin  table  d'hote.  This  table  d'hote, 
which  is  the  Communist  restaurant  reserved  for 
all  the  Commissars  and  workers  in  the  Kremlin, 
was  unusually  full  to-day.  I  was  lucky  to  get  a 
place.  Lunarcharsky  sat  opposite  me.  He  has 
just  returned  to  Moscow  and  I  regret  there  was 
no  one  present  who  could  introduce  us. 

My  neighbors  observed  me  reading  an  English 
guide  book  to  the  Kremlin,  and  attempted  odd  bits 
of  conversation,  but  their  English  completely 
broke  down.  It  is  a  great  loss  not  being  able  to 
understand  a  word  of  Russian,  as  the  general  con- 
versation at  the  long  table  was  very  animated  and 
must  have  been  interesting. 

The  interest  for  me  was  in  the  faces  of  the  men 
themselves,  who  were  of  the  most  varied  types  it 
would  be  possible  to  collect.  One  could  not  say 
they  were  typically  Russian  or  typical  of  any  race 
or  of  any  particular  character,  and  yet  there  was 
some  invisible  link  that  bound  all  these  men  to- 
gether In  one  common  thought. 


192  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

After  lunch  Andreef  fetched  me  and  an  official 
showed  us  all  over  the  Tsar's  Palace,  There  were 
exquisite  small  rooms  with  vaulted  ceilings  and 
frescoed  walls,  from  which  it  was  evident  the 
stage  scenery  in  the  Russian  operas  had  heen 
copied.  There  were  still  traces  of  red  bunting 
and  appeals  to  the  workers  of  the  world  to  unite, 
in  the  colossal  room  over-decorated  with  gold, 
which  was  the  Throne  Room  of  the  Romanoffs, 
and  in  which  the  Third  International  had  its  last 
meeting  place. 

The  modern  apartments  in  the  new  wing  are 
bad  architecture  and  bad  taste,  but  everything  is 
left  undisturbed.  Even  the  photographs  of  the 
Tsar's  Coronation  are  still  hanging  in  their 
frames  in  some  of  the  rooms.  The  Royal  Family 
scarcely  came  to  Moscow,  so  the  place  must  have 
always  had  an  uninhabited  feeling.  One  did  not 
feel  the  ghosts  of  former  times  as  In  some  of  the 
older  parts  of  the  building. 

My  last  evening  was  spent  with  Andreef,  Litvl- 
noff,  and  Kamenev,  who  came  and  sat  In  my  room. 
Kamenev  brought  me  a  sheepskin  hat,  such  as  I 
had  seen  at  the  ZuckarefskI  market,  and  wanted 
so  much.  Also  the  £ioo  I  had  entrusted  to  his 
care  when  we  started,  which  I  have  never  had  oc- 
casion to  spend.  He  then  told  me  that  my  de- 
parture is  most  ill-timed.  To-morrow  Is  the  eve 
of  the  Anniversary  of  the  Revolution.    There  arc 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       193 

going  to  be  great  celebrations.  A  big  meeting  will 
be  held  at  the  opera  house,  at  which  Lenin  ami 
Trotsky  are  going  to  speak.  It  is  only  on  very 
rare  occasions  that  Lenin  appears  in  public,  and 
it  would  be  interesting  to  hear  him.  The  meeting 
is  called  for  4  o'clock,  but  it  will  be  3  or  4  hours 
late,  and  my  train  leaves  at  8.  If  only  Lomonosoff 
would  delay  his  train  I  could  attend.  The  next 
day,  on  the  7th,  there  will  be  a  ball,  and  on  the 
8th  a  banquet  at  our  house  for  the  Foreign  Office. 
Moreover  the  Entente  papers  promise  a  coup 
d'etat  for  the  7th  and  Litvinoff  suggested  that  I 
should  wait  and  "see  the  show."  But  I  know  by 
experience  that  I  would  only  wait  in  vain.  When 
I  was  alone  with  Kamenev  he  said  to  me:  "Well, 
did  I  keep  my  promises?"  I  told  him  that  every- 
thing had  been  fulfilled,  and  had  exceeded  even  my 
expectations.  I  told  him  I  was  overwhelmed  by 
the  kindness  I  had  received,  "considering  I  am 
an  enemy  Englishwoman."  He  would  not  listen 
to  any  words  of  appreciation.  Ele  smiled  in  his 
genial  kindly  way:  "of  course  we  were  glad  to  re- 
ceive you,  and  to  have  you  among  us,  une  fern  me 
artiste — what  did  it  matter  to  us,  your  national- 
ity, or  your  relations.  There  is  only  one  thing  que 
nous  ne  pouvons  pas  supporter" — and  for  the  first 
time  in  all  the  months  I  have  known  him  a  hard 
look  passed  over  his  face  and  he  set  his  teeth: 
"The  only  thing  we  cannot  stand,  c'est  I'espion- 


194  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

age"  and  the  way  he  said  it  gave  me  a  shiver 
down  my  spine.  It  was  only  a  passing  shadow, 
and  the  next  moment  he  was  telling  me  he  really 
regarded  me  as  a  woman  of  courage  for  coming 
just  on  his  word,  adding  that  when  he  saw  me  on 
the  departure  platform  "with  two  small  hand 
bags,  I  knew  in  that  moment  that  you  were  not 
any  ordinary  woman!"  We  looked  back  on  our 
London  days  and  laughingly  discussed  the  first 
sitting  when  he  invited  me  to  come  to  Moscow.  I 
told  him,  "I  did  not  believe  you  were  serious  when 
you  asked  me!"  And  he  said,  "Neither  did  I  be- 
lieve you  were  serious  when  you  accepted!"  He 
then  proceeded  to  outline  for  me  exactly  what 
the  effect  of  my  Moscow  visit  would  have  on  my 
friends,  on  my  family,  in  the  press,  and  on  my 
career.     His  accuracy  remains  to  be  s'een. 


November  6th,  Saturday. 
Off  at  last — what  a  hectic  day.  Litvinoff  tele- 
phoned to  me  in  the  morning  from  the  Commissar- 
iat to  say  that  my  big  wooden  cases  (my  coffins 
I  call  them,  they  are  the  same  shape)  were  going 
to  be  conveyed  from  my  studio  to  the  station,  and 
that  I  need  not  concern  myself  about  them.  It 
was  not  until  midday  that  I  learnt  for  certain  that 
Professor  Lomonosofif  was  going  to  start  to-night. 
In  Russia  one  makes  no  plans,  things  happen  when 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       195 

they  happen  !  With  a  rashness  that  nearly  proved 
reckless,  I  distributed  my  few  belongings  among 
my  friends.  To  a  lady  doctor  friend  of  Andreef 
who  had  been  nice  to  me,  I  left  all  my  stockings, 
a  box  of  soap,  a  skirt,  a  jersey  and  my  cloth  over- 
coat. To  the  maids  in  the  house,  my  shoes  and 
goloshes,  workbag,  jersey,  fur-lined  dressing 
jacket,  pair  of  gloves,  and  hat.  To  Rothstein  as 
a  parting  gift,  my  hotwater  bottle  and  medicine 
case.  I  started  on  my  journey  with  the  clothes  I 
stood  up  in.  The  maids,  to  my  intense  embar- 
rassment, kissed  my  hands  and  nearly  wept.  I 
nearly  kissed  them  in  return.  I  started  off  with 
Litvinoff,  and  Rothstein  came  to  the  front  door 
to  see  the  last  of  me.  He  overwhelmed  me  with 
compliments:  "You  have  been  a  brick,  you  have 
played  up  splendidly,  you  have  never  complain- 
ed  "     I  tried  to  explain  that  I  hadn't  played 

up,  and  I  hadn't  been  anything  except  very  happy. 
I  might  have  added  that  living  Communistically 
had  proved  to  me  that  one  must  either  love  or  hate 
the  people  one  sees  everyday  for  any  length  of 
time.  Hate  may  be  tempered  into  dislike,  and 
Love  may  be  more  appropriately  friendship  or 
affection,  but  it  was  certainly  affection  that  I  had 
grown  to  feel  for  Rothstein.  He  seemed  some- 
how to  belong  to  our  environment, — we  should 
have  missed  him  if  he  hadn't  been  there.  Just 
occasionally  he   said  things  about  England   that 


196  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

roused  opposition  in  me.  I  feel  about  England 
as  most  people  do  about  their  relations,  that  I  may 
abuse  my  own,  but  no  one  else  may!  I  realized 
when  I  got  to  know  him  better  that  his  attitude 
was  not  so  much  one  of  hostility  to  England,  as 
of  intense  pride  in  Russia,  and  so  I  forgave  him! 
During  my  first  days  in  Moscow  Rothstein  un- 
failingly cross-questioned  me  at  supper,  as  to  how 
I  had  spent  my  day,  where  I  had  lunched,  who  I'd 
seen,  and  what  time  I  had  come  home.  At  last  I 
said  to  him:  "Don't  ask  me,  try  and  find  out — " 
and  I  chaffed  him  so  that  he  had  to  give  up  ask- 
ing. I  never  knew  whether  there  was  a  motive  in 
his  curiosity  or  not.  At  all  events,  he  never  was 
anything  but  a  kindly  and  helpful  friend  to  me.  I 
drove  away  from  No.  14  Sofiskaya  Naberezhnaya 
in  an  open  car  in  the  bright  light  of  a  full  moon, 
glittering  stars  and  hard  frost.  Litvinoff,  observ- 
ing that  I  looked  back  at  it  rather  sentimentally 
said:  "That  is  your  Moscow  home,  the  next  time 
you  come  you  will  bring  your  children,"  and  I  felt 
that  I  did  not  look  upon  it  for  the  last  time.  We 
drove  first  to  the  Commissariat  for  Foreign  Af- 
fairs, as  he  had  some  packages  of  papers  to  pick 
up  there  which  he  had  taken  away  in  the  morning 
to  have  sealed  up  for  me.  I  waited  outside  in  the 
car  for  some  time.  When  he  rejoined  me  he  was 
agitated.  My  "coffins"  he  had  just  learnt  were  still 
at  the  Kremlin.     Organization  had  miscarried,  it 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       197 

was  "somebody's"  fault.  The  lorry  had  waited 
for  them  3  hours,  the  sentry  at  the  building  had 
refused  to  deliver  up  the  cases.  What  could  have 
happened?  Every  one  was  at  the  big  Opera 
House  meeting,  so  all  telephoning  efforts  to  get 
hold  of  responsible  help  had  been  in  vain.  We  had 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  before  the  train  was 
due  to  start.  I  suggested  driving  to  the  Kremlin 
to  see  what  we  could  do.  Happily  I  still  had  my 
pass  on  me,  so  we  got  in,  by  the  sentry.  The 
building,  ev^er  before  so  busy,  was  now  utterly  de- 
serted and  resonant.  I  unlocked  the  door  of  my 
studio, — there  were  the  two  coffins  lying  packed 
and  sealed  and  unmoved.  I  lifted  one  end  of  one, 
it  was  far  beyond  our  combined  strengths  to  carry, 
and  the  motor  could  not  ha\  c  taken  them.  We 
gave  it  up  in  despair.  Down  in  the  courtyard  our 
car  refused  to  move,  the  chauffeur  was  tinkering 
at  it.  It  seemed  to  have  a  real  congested  chill. 
Train  time  was  drawing  near.  The  station  was 
some  way  off.  "Stay,"  said  Litvinoff.  I  had  vis- 
ions of  staying,  perhaps  indefinitely,  having  parted 
with  all  except  what  I  stood  in. 

I  looked  round  at  the  beautiful  Kremlin,  to 
which  I  had  already  said  good-by,  not  expecting 
to  see  it  again.  It  seemed  more  beautiful  than 
ever,  more  still,  more  dignified,  more  impassive. 
The  clock  in  the  old  Spassky  tower  complainingly 
chimed  three  times,  it  was  a  quarter  to  seven.     At 


198  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

last  the  car  breathed,  pulsed,  started,  then 
stopped.  Then  pulsed,  grunted,  and  started  again. 
We  were  off,  and  as  the  road  lay  downhill,  it 
seemed  possible  the  car,  which  was  missing  badly, 
might  get  there!  It  seemed  to  be  an  evening  of 
mishaps,  and  I  felt  fated  not  to  leave  Moscow. 
However,  we  reached  the  station  at  exactly  seven 
and  I  gathered  up  all  I  could  in  each  hand,  and 
ran  towards  a  crowd  that  stood  by  the  only  train 
in  the  station.  Litvinoff  shouted  to  me,  "You 
needn't  run."  Indeed,  I  need  not,  the  only  train 
in  the  station  was  not  the  train  of  Professor 
Lomonosoff.  His  special  came  in  at  another  plat- 
form about  half  an  hour  later,  and  never  went  out 
till  after  9.  Had  we  known,  something  could 
have  been  done  in  the  time  to  get  the  cases  to  the 
train,  also  I  could  have  gone  to  the  meeting  and 
heard  Lenin.  No  one  was  more  frantic  than 
Lomonosoff  himself,  who  prided  himself  on  his 
train  being  punctual.  But  it  could  not  be  helped, 
the  train  had  just  returned  from  the  Urals,  and 
was  in  a  state  of  disorder! 

Litvinoff,  when  he  said  good-by  to  me,  promised 
to  send  on  my  cases  by  courier  to  Reval  in  time  to 
catch  the  Stockholm  boat.  He  then  roused  my 
curiosity  by  telling  me  that  he  had  been  a  better 
friend  to  me  than  I  should  ever  know.  I  begged 
him  to  explain,  but  he  said  I  must  wait  ten  years 
or  so. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       199 

November  7x11,  1920.     In  the  train. 

Professor  Lomonosoff  Is  the  Minister  of  Rail- 
ways. We  arc  carrying  six  and  a  half  million 
pounds  in  gold,  which  he  is  taking  to  Germany  to 
buy  locomotives  with.  We  are  accompanied  by 
an  armed  guard. 

We  were  held  up  many  hours  last  night  because 
there  was  an  accident  on  the  line  and  it  took  a 
long  time  to  clear.  Periodically  the  axle  of  the 
gold  car  breaks,  or  the  oil-box  takes  fire,  and  we 
stop  perpetually:  but  wc  are  steadily  nearing  our 
goal.  It  really  does  not  matter  how  long  we  take 
so  long  as  we  catch  next  Thursday's  boat  from 
Reval. 

Our  party  consists  besides  Lomonosoff's  staff, 
which  he  is  taking  with  him  to  Germany,  of  Van- 
derlip  and  Neuorteva,  and  a  charming  man  called 
Dargone,  who  is  a  railway  expert.  He  was  once 
a  very  rich  man  and  in  the  Tsar's  entourage.  He 
seemed  anxious  to  tell  me  as  quickly  as  possible 
that  he  was  a  Monarchist,  as  if  to  be  mistaken 
for  a  Bolshevik  were  more  than  he  could  bear. 
He  looked  anasmic  and  well  bred,  with  deep-set 
sad  eyes  and  a  calm  and  resignation  that  were 
almost  tragic. 

He  differed  bitterly  and  openly  in  his  views 
from  Lomonosoff  and  said,  "I  am  a  Russian.  I 
am  working  for  Russia,  not  for  the  Bolsheviks," 
whom  he  called  robbers!     Professor  Lomonosoff 


200  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

sat  back  in  his  chair  and  chuckled.  He  said :  "You 
call  us  robbers,  but  we  called  you  robbers."  It 
was  just  a  question  of  which  robber  came  out  top. 

Afterwards  when  Lomonosoff  left  us,  I  begged 
D not  to  indulge  in  any  more  political  discus- 
sions. "I  shall  be  over  the  frontier  in  a  few 
hours,  but  you  have  to  live  here.  Do  take  heed 
for  yourself." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "One  dies  but 
once,"  he  said,  laughing,  and  then  explained: 
"They  know  my  views  well;  but  I  can  do  good 
work  for  them,  and  they  know  I  am  not  in  touch 
with  counter-revolutionary  movements,  and  that  I 
take  no  part  in  politics,  so  I  am  safe  enough." 

Lomonosoff,  who  had  been  a  railway  official  in 
Tsarist  days,  told  us  how  he  had  accompanied  the 
Tsar's  train  to  Tsarskoe-Selo.  The  Tsar,  he  said, 
had  even  up  to  that  moment  not  realized  the  mean- 
ing of  the  Revolution.  He  probably  thought  he 
was  retiring  to  Siberia  until  the  storm  had  blown 
over.  At  the  station,  upon  his  arrival,  his  body- 
guard had  by  courtesy  been  drawn  to  greet  him. 
The  Tsar  alighted  from  the  train  and  went  to  in- 
spect the  guard  with  the  usual  greeting:  "Good 
health  to  you  soldiers!"  The  answer  is:  "Good 
health  to  your  Imperial  Majesty,"  but  on  this  oc- 
casion the  soldiers  answered  almost  in  one  voice. 
"Good  health  to  you,  Colonel!"  The  Tsar 
seemed  to  realize  for  the  first  time  the  real  sit- 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       201 

uation.  He  became  ashen  white,  turned  the  collar 
of  his  overcoat  up,  and  shrank  away. 

Lomonosoff  also  gave  us  a  vivid  and  thrilling 
account  of  the  detailed  organization,  in  which  he 
took  part,  with  the  purpose  of  wrecking  the 
Tsar's  train  while  he  was  on  his  way  to  Siberia. 
Two  runaway  engines  were  to  be  despatched,  with 
no  one  on  board,  to  collide  with  the  back  of  the 
Tsar's  train.  These  plans  were  only  frustrated  at 
the  last  second  by  the  news  of  the  Tsar's  abdica- 
tion. 

When  he  proceeded  to  tell  us  how  the  Tsar's 
entourage  deserted  him  as  rats  do  a  sinking  ship, 
it  was  evidently  very  painful  to  Dargone,  who  sat 
grimly  silent.  I  could  not  help  feeling  that  they 
a  little  bit  enjoyed  his  discomfiture. 

Later,  when  we  were  again  alone  together,  he 
said  to  me  rather  passionately,  "It  is  not  tnie  that 
every  one  deserted  my  Tsar,  for  my  best  friend 
followed  him  to  Siberia  to  share  his  death,  and 
there  were  devoted  friends  of  the  Tsaritza  who 
did  the  same." 

We  are  now  nearing  the  frontier.  The  little 
country  stations  decorated  for  the  7th  with  red 
bunting  and  pictures  of  Lenin  will  soon  be  passed. 
Back  we  go  to  the  old  world  of  tips  and  restau- 
rants, and  civilization. 

Good-by,  wonder  world,  good-by — good-byl 


202  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

November  i2th,  1920. 

We  arrived  in  Reval  late  on  Tuesday  night  the 
9th.  I  was  handed  a  package  containing  my  two 
volumes  of  diary  and  all  my  Kodak  films,  which, 
thanks  to  Litvinoff,  had  been  sealed  with  Govern- 
ment seals  and  confided  to  a  courier  who  kept 
them  in  his  charge  until  we  were  over  the  frontier. 

I  have  written  my  diary  all  these  weeks  as  trust- 
ingly as  though  I  were  in  my  own  home,  never 
foreseeing  any  difficulties  of  departure.  My  trust 
in  Providence  is  always  justified. 

The  next  day  I  went  to  the  British  Consulate. 
Mr.  Leslie  (no  relation)  made  me  extremely  wel- 
come. He  said  he  had  heard  of  me  from  H.  G. 
Wells,  and  that  until  then  he  had  not  known  I 
was  in  Russia.  I  had  (reproachfully)  not  ad- 
dressed myself  to  the  Consulate  on  my  in-going 
journey.  I  found  he  had  a  Henry  James  cult,  and 
had  read  everything  Henry  James  had  written,  in- 
cluding the  two  volumes  of  letters.  He  gave  me 
his  bath-room  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  invited  me 
to  luncheon  and  then  arranged  for  me  to  stay  the 
remaining  two  days  in  Reval  with  a  most  hospit- 
able English  couple,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harwood,  who 
lived  in  a  beautiful  villa  on  the  seashore.  There 
I  was  overwhelmed  by  kindness. 

I  also  learned  with  some  curiosity  and  interest 
the  politics  of  Esthonia,  the  half  Bolshevist  con- 
dition of  things,   and   the  history  of  the   Baltic 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       203 

Germans,  their  settlement  in  Reval  and  their 
forced  departure.  It  is  an  amusing  and  compli- 
cated little  side-show. 

During  my  stay  in  Reval  I  had  to  go  several 
times  to  the  Soviet  headquarters  at  the  Hotel 
Petersbourg.  It  amuses  me  to  recall  my  bewil- 
dered impression  of  last  September.  This  time 
when  I  went  I  felt  thoroughly  at  home  !  Not  only 
did  Comrad  Gai  take  a  great  deal  of  trouble  for 
me,  but  Gukofski  received  me  as  a  friend. 

On  Thursday  morning  the  coffins  arrived  from 
Moscow,  by  courier,  as  promised  by  Litvinoff,  and 
I  had  a  fine  game  of  dodge.  Gai  sent  them  on  a 
lorry  to  me  at  the  British  Consulate,  just  when 
I  had  left,  and  they  returned  to  the  Hotel 
Petersbourg  while  I  was  chasing  after  them  to  the 
British  Consulate.  Finally  I  got  them  down  to 
the  quay  but  they  were  not  allowed  on  board  be- 
cause there  was  not  the  required  official  paper 
from  Moscow.  Had  the  ship  left  as  she  was  sup- 
posed to  leave,  at  midday,  they  certainly  would 
not  have  been  on  board,  but  there  was  a  storm 
brewing  so  the  ship  delayed  sailing  a  day.  When 
Gai  had  finally  sent  me  the  necessary  paper,  I 
sought  out  the  Captain  and  begged  him  to  have 
my  cases  put  somewhere  especially  safe.  "They 
contain  the  heads  of  Lenin  and  Trotsky,"  I  ex- 
plained.    The  Captain  looked  awfully  impressed 


204  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

and  pleased,  so  pleased  that  I  added,  "Plaster 
heads — and  breakable." 

"A  plaster  head  of  Trotsky — and  breakable — ? 
Come  on!  Let's  break  Trotsky's  head!"  and  he 
made  towards  it  threateningly,  much  to  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  onlookers. 

My  departure  from  Reval  was  superintended 
by  my  late  Bolshevist  hosts,  whose  representatives 
in  Reval,  and  also  Professor  Lomonosoff  and  his 
staff,  did  everything  in  their  power  to  be  kind  and 
attentive. 

We  are  on  our  way  now  to  Stockholm.  ...  I 
find  the  same  Swedish  banker,  Mr.  Aschberg,  on 
board  who  went  across  with  us  in  September.  He 
is  in  charge  of  a  cabin  full  of  gold.  He  takes  good 
care  of  me  and  I  am  glad  to  find  a  friend.  I  am 
told  the  food  on  board  is  very  bad,  but  I  think  it 
is  marvelous. 

November  i6th,  1920. 

Have  lost  all  track  of  time.  Storms  forced 
our  little  boat  to  anchor  under  the  shelter  of  an 
Oland  isle  for  two  days  and  a  night. 

On  our  arrival  late  at  night  at  Stockholm  we 
were  met  by  Professor  Lomonosoff's  representa- 
tive with  a  car,  and  after  we  had  all  been  submit- 
ted to  a  search,  not  for  arms,  but  for  insects,  and 
declared  fit  to  step  on  to  Swedish  soil,  I  was 
whirled  off  to  the  Hotel  Anglais. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       205 

I  was  fully  expected  to  be  lost  and  forgotten  on 
leaving  Moscow,  but  here  I  am  being  taken  care 
of  in  the  third  country  away.  If  the  Stockholm 
experiences  foreshadow  my  coming  reception  in 
England,  it  promises  to  be  hectic.  I  am  not  al- 
lowed breathing  space,  nor  eating  time. 

Reporters  besiege  me.  They  even  walk  up  to 
my  room  without  being  announced.  I  am  so 
ignorant  of  the  papers  they  represent  that  I  say 
all  the  wrong  things.  One  paper,  a  Conservative 
one,  says  that  I  declared  Trotsky  to  be  a  perfect 
gentleman.  This,  if  it  gets  back  to  Moscow,  is 
most  embarrassing.  Never  in  my  wildest  moments 
would  I  use  so  mediocre  a  description  to  apply  to 
Trotsky.  I  might  say  he  was  a  genius,  a  super- 
man, or  a  devil.  Anyway,  in  Russia  we  talk  of 
men  and  women  and  not  of  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
I  dare  say  the  editor  meant  well,  and  things  get 
distorted  in  translation. 

The  experience  of  returning  through  Stockholm 
is  rather  unique.  Because  we  have  both  come  out 
of  Russia  together,  Mr.  Vanderlip  and  I  have 
been  entertained  at  the  same  parties,  but  for  me 
Frederick  Strom  and  the  Russian  Bolshevists  are 
invited,  and  for  Vanderlip  the  leading  Swedish 
bankers.  It  is  a  queer  amalgamation,  but  it 
works  well. 

The  first  evening  I  talked  to  Socialist  Strom  and 
a  Conservative  banker  for  an  hour  and  a  half  in 


2o6  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

flowing  but  execrable  German.  They  did  not  laugh 
at  my  grammar,  and  they  listened  and  spurred  me 
on  with  questions.  The  German  of  my  childhood 
slightly  practiced  in  Moscow  has  returned  to  me 
with  a  rush. 

I  have  been  invited  to  do  a  monument  for  a 
public  square  in  Stockholm  representing  peace 
uniting  the  workers  of  the  Right  and  Left  Wing. 
The  money  has  been  subscribed  in  kroner  by  the 
workpeople.  It  is  an  international  thing,  and  they 
would  be  pleased  if  I  would  do  it.  It  is  a  sub- 
ject which  rather  lends  itself  to  allegorical  treat- 
ment and  appeals  to  the  imagination. 

I  am  now  in  the  night  train  for  Goteborg.  Be- 
fore I  left  I  went  to  tea  with  the  children  at  the 
Palace.  The  Crown  Prince  unfortunately  was  in 
Rome.  The  children  seemed  lonely,  but  well. 
Princess  Ingrid  looked  sad,  big-eyed,  and  rather 
pale.  The  baby,  Johnny,  is  adorable.  He  is  a 
thing  so  sweet  to  woman,  so  much  to  be  appre- 
ciated. One  feels  the  maternal  spirit-arms  round 
him. 

I  also  went  to  see  the  Controller  of  the  Queen's 
household  (an  artist  and  an  old  friend  of  many 
years).  Here  the  impression  I  received  of  preju- 
dice against  my  Russian  friends  was  overwhelm- 
ing, but  I  suppose  in  Court  circles  this  is  to  be  ex- 
pected. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       207 

November  i8th,  1920. 
Goteborg  to  Newcastle. 
More  delays,  owing  to  storms.  Always  there 
are  delays  on  this  journey.  Do  what  one  will  it  is 
impossible  to  hurry.  In  pre-war  days  it  took  two 
days  to  come  from  Russia.  Now  it  takes  two 
weeks. 

November  23RD,  1920.    London. 

We  arrived  at  Newcastle  at  midnight  on  the 
19th.  Steaming  up  the  Tyne  at  night  is  wonder- 
ful, all  the  arcllghts  throwing  into  relief  great 
machinery  and  construction.  The  activity  and 
work  looked  colossal.  As  soon  as  we  had  glided 
alongside  the  quay,  and  I  had  touched  English 
soil  once  more,  I  was  not  left  in  doubt  one  moment 
as  to  the  truth  of  Kamenev's  premonitions. 

While  the  coffins  were  being  opened  with  chisel 
and  hammer  at  the  Custom  House,  reporters,  who 
declared  they  had  come  from  London  and  had 
been  waiting  two  days,  clamored  for  information. 
The  head  official  of  the  Customs  was  very  abrupt 
in  his  manner  and  subjected  all  my  luggage  to  a 
most  ruthless  search.  I  did  not  declare  the 
identity  of  my  heads,  but  from  the  unpleasant  offi- 
cial attitude  I  guessed  they  were  already  known. 
One  official  began  examining  a  large  album  of 
photographs.  I  said  to  him,  "That  isn't  contra- 
band, It's  photographs  of  my  work.     Yes,  that  one 


2o8  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

is  Mr.  Churchill, — if  it  interests  you,  you  may 
look  at  it — "  He  nearly  flung  it  down.  "I've  no 
scent  and  no  tobacco,  one  doesn't  get  those  things 
in  Russia — "  I  said.  Unfortunately  at  that 
minute  he  came  upon  a  packet  of  Soviet  cigarettes, 
my  last  ration  that  I  had  carefully  kept  and 
brought  back  to  England.  But  he  said,  "That's 
not  what  we  are  looking  for — "  Whatever  he 
was  looking  for  he  didn't  find. 

He  then  poked  his  arm  up  to  the  elbow  in  the 
straw  and  shavings  that  wrapped  up  Dsirjinsky, 
until  satisfied  that  it  was  not  a  Xmas  bran-pie. 
I  then  got  it  nailed  down  again,  and  accepted  the 
newspaper  reporters'  invitation  to  drive  with  them 
from  the  quay  to  the  station.  There  another  man 
met  me  armed  with  a  kodak  and  a  flashlight.  I 
sympathize  with  professional  keenness  but  I  will 
not  be  butchered  to  make  a  Roman  holiday.  The 
moment  seemed  inappropriate.  There  were  in- 
ebriate young  fellows  shouting,  singing,  and  fall- 
ing about  the  station  to  such  an  extent  that  the 
policeman,  who  had  vainly  tried  to  look  the  other 
way,  had  finally  to  take  notice,  but  he  had  to 
knock  one  of  them  down  before  he  could  arrest 
him.  It  was  a  revolting  sight  and  I  was  glad  to 
get  into  my  sleeper  and  shut  out  the  sight  and 
sound  of  Newcastle  at  midnight. 

Since  then  my  soul,  my  life,  my  time,  has  been 
no  longer  my  own.    I  have  been  pursued,  besieged, 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       209 

harassed,  feasted,  attacked,  and  praised  in 
turn.   .   .   . 

I  have  seen  prejudice  and  hate  and  bitterness. 
Russia,  to-day,  is  a  new  phenomenon,  but  the  op- 
position is  merely  history  repeating  itself.  We 
read  of  the  same  condition  of  mind  in  England 
after  the  Napoleonic  wars;  the  same  fear  of 
French  Revolutionary  ideas,  the  same  actions  and 
reactions. 

Yet,  if  people  would  only  realize  it.  Revolutions 
are  not  caused  by  propaganda,  nor  by  plots.  In 
Russia  the  Revolution  failed  every  time  it  was  or- 
ganized. It  was  brought  about,  by  cause  and  ef- 
fect, at  the  very  moment  the  present  leaders  were 
in  exile,  in  the  four  corners  of  the  globe. 

Alexinsky  says  in  his  "Modern  Russia,"  "Seek 
for  the  cause  of  Revolution  neither  in  the  ardent 
propaganda  of  the  Revolutionists,  nor  in  the  bad 
qualities  of  monarchs  and  their  advisers,  but  in 
the  deep  and  silent  operation  of  certain  forces, 
which  lead  new  social  classes  upon  the  stage  of 
History."  It  is  futile  to  waste  hate  upon  these 
forces,  or  to  call  them  Lenin  and  Trotsky,  when 
really  it  is  the  law  of  evolution  and  change  that 
is  demonstrating  in  certain  parts  of  the  Earth. 

Jan.,  1 92 1. 

Since  my  return  from  Moscow  on  November 
20th,  1920,  I  have  hardly*had  a  breathing  space — 


210  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

first  there  were  the  "Times"  publication  of  my 
Diary  and  all  it  involved,  then  the  writing  of  my 
book,  which  is  only  just  finished. 

When  I  started  off  to  Moscow  without  a  word 
to  any  one,  I  could  not  surmise  what  would  be  the 
outcome  of  it,  nor  what  the  attitude  of  my  family 
and  friends  would  be.  I  have  returned  to  find 
a  revelation  of  surprises.  It  is  a  bitter  world, — 
the  world  to  which  I  once  belonged, — and  they  do 
me  the  compliment  of  taking  me  a  good  deal  more 
seriously  than  I  have  ever  taken  myself.  In  fact 
very  seriously. 

But  my  adventure  has  shaken  off  a  good 
many  of  those  worthless  friends  with  which  one 
gets  unavoidably  lumbered  up  as  the  years  go 
on  and  one's  tastes  and  ideas  evolve.  But  I  have 
made  more  new  friends  than  the  old  ones  lost. 
And  I  like  my  new  friends.  I  talk  heart  to  heart 
and  soul  to  soul  with  them.  At  last,  and  for  the 
first  time,  almost,  in  my  life  I  am  among  people 
with  whom  I  talk  the  same  language. 

Nearly  two  months  have  flashed  by,  full  of  in- 
cident and  interest — impossible  to  record. 

Strange  people  call  on  me  and  ask  for  me  on 
the  telephone — strange  only  insomuch  as  they  are 
unknown  to  me,  but  not  strange  for  long.  .  ,  . 
One  day  Massingham  asked  me  to  lunch  with  him 
and  I  went  not  knowing  him.  My  friend 
Capt.  Grenfell  was  of  the  party.  I  loved  Massing- 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       211 

ham  and  to  this  day  I  think  I  hav^e  enjoyed  my 
talk  with  him  more  than  any  other.  Bernard 
Shaw  too  I  met  at  dinner  at  Sidney  Cooke's,  but 
Shaw  with  all  his  wit  and  genius  has  not  the  fierce 
flame  that  is  characteristic  of  the  Russian  spirit. 
Massingham  has  a  bitter  sense  of  humor,  and  one 
feels  in  him  the  fight  of  the  worker,  whereas  in 
Shaw  one  recognizes  the  rather  "lazy"  man,  who 
sees  what  is  wrong,  but  without  its  arousing  more 
than  a  jest  and  a  sardonic  hit  of  the  pen  at  his 
adversary.  Shaw  is  a  man  of  letters,  first  and 
foremost.  Massingham  is  concerned  with  better- 
ing the  world.  I  believe  he  will  fight  his  hardest, 
— he  would  go  under  fighting.  He  is  unbreak- 
able, he  has  the  passion  that  the  Russians  have. 
He  asked  me  to  write  something  for  the  "Nation" 
and  I  tried,  but  it  is  not  easy  to  write  an  article, 
whereas  it  is  very  easy  to  write  a  Diary.  An 
article  at  once  is  pretentious  and  one  has  to  know 
one's  subject  in  all  its  aspects.  I  do  not  want  to 
tempt  Providence  by  doing  something  amateur- 
ish. My  writing  is  like  my  modeling — I  can  do 
something  quick  from  life,  that  has  the  impression 
and  the  freshness  of  perception — to  toil  at  a  solid 
piece  of  work  I  am  incapable  and  would  fail. 

I  have  been  asked  by  Coates,  the  Secretary  of 
the  "Hands  Off  Russia  Committee,"  to  address 
big  meetings  at  Liverpool,  Bradford,  Manchester, 
etc.,    but   I    refused   as,    however   non-political    I 


212  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

might  be,  I  would  unavoidably  be  branded  by  a 
political  platform.  He  asked  me  to  meet  Robert 
Williams  and  Malone.  Williams  is  a  serious,  in- 
tent and  deep  thinking  man.  Malone  is  young 
and  new  to  the  game  and  not  big  minded  enough. 
But  he  has  the  spirit  of  sacrifice. 

Jan.  14,  1921. 
I  lunched  with  Kitty  Somerset  *  and  found  the 
Bernard  Shaws  there.  Kitty  is  splendid.  Shaw 
was  very  entertaining.  We  had  discussions  on 
education,  children,  religion  and  so  on.  We  all 
agreed  on  the  misery  of  childhood.  Shaw  says 
that  children  have  the  right  to  get  up  and  walk 
away  if  their  teachers  bore  them!  I  asked  him 
whether  I  ought  to  persist  in  making  my  children 
say  prayers  every  night,  when  it  means  no  more 
to  them  than  the  bread  and  milk  which  accompa- 
nies the  pre-bed  time  moment.  Ought  one  not  to 
get  away  from  shams  and  stick  to  realities?  The 
table  was  divided  in  opinion  about  this,  and  Shaw 
told  us  that  when  he  was  a  child  he  used  to  im- 
provise his  own  prayers,  and  end  up  with  the 
Lord's  Prayer,  until  suddenly  one  day  out  in  the 
sun,  he  realized  that  he  did  not  believe  in  it,  and 
that  it  was  all  unnecessary  nonsense,  and  resolved 
to  give  it  up.  The  first  night,  he  said,  he  went 
to  sleep  with  a  feeling  of  omission  and  consequent 

*  Daughter  of  the  late  Duke  of  St.  Albans. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       213 

discomfort.  After  that  It  was  all  forgotten.  He 
then  proceeded  to  tell  us  that  all  the  Jonah  and 
the  Whale  and  such-like  tales  have  the  effect  of 
ruining  the  Christian  faith  and  muddling  children's 
heads — Atheists  wipe  out  everything  and  conse- 
quently start  on  a  clean  sheet  and  end  in  believing 
something  worth  while. 

Jan.  15. 

Had  my  passport  photos  done  and  Mr.  Coates 
lunched  with  me.  He  read  me  a  letter  from  Roth- 
stein  from  Moscow,  in  which  Rothstein,  who  is 
obviously  homesick,  nevertheless  describes  the  im- 
provement in  the  conditions  of  everything,  par- 
ticularly of  food.  In  fact  it  made  such  good  read- 
ing that  I  felt  my  sympathy  for  my  friends  in 
Moscow  was  no  longer  required. 

After  lunch  Dick  arrived  from  Honseley  and 
brought  me  the  last  news  of  my  beloved  Teeta, 
who  is  evidently  getting  on  very  well. 

Jan.  16. 
Fitzie*  gave  Dick  and  me  lunch  at  Caunto's — 
we  were  late,  and  Fitzie  was  walking  up  and  down 
outside  quite  cheerfully  without  any  coat  or  hat 
on.  After  lunch  we  went  to  the  Zoo.  I  like  Fitz's 
unconventionality  and  "jr  w'rn  fuliisti'"  air.  He 
gave  me  dinner  and  came  back  to  the  studio  after- 
wards to  talk  peacefully.     We  talked  about  the 

•  General   P.    Fitzgerald. 


214  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

United  States.  He  returned  not  very  long  ago. 
He  says  that  one  has  a  wonderful  time  but  that 
it  costs  a  million  a  minute  to  live — and  that  is 
the  very  devil  of  it  for  English  people.  He  says 
I  ought  not  to  start  off  into  the  unknown  with  the 
burden  of  Dick  and  that  while  I  am  on  tour,  lec- 
turing, I  should  not  have  the  fun  of  seeing  him 
and  all  the  anxiety  of  wondering  how  he  was 
getting  on. 

Of  course  Fitzie  was  talking  sense.  I  had  sur- 
mised all  that  to  myself  long  ago,  but  firmly  re- 
pressed it.  However,  the  result  of  our  evening 
was  that  Fitzie  took  the  tickets  away  in  his  pocket 
to  take  them  to  the  Cunard  office  to  cancel  the 
two  extra  ones.  I  went  to  bed  a  very  sad  woman. 
America  is  only  contemplatable  with  Dick,  and  if 
I  have  to  go  without  him  it  will  be  a  wretched 
business. 

Jan.  17.    Monday. 

I  sent  my  passport  papers  all  filled  up  and 
signed  to  Sidney,  to  the  Reform  Club,  and  he  is 
going  to  deal  with  the  matter  for  me.  There 
seem  to  be  delays  that  one  suspects  of  being  de- 
liberate— I  feel  none  too  easy  just  yet  about  that 
passport. 

At  quarter  to  one  I  arrived  at  the  "Daily  Her- 
ald'' office  as  directed  by  Mr.  Ewer  and  met  Lans- 
bury,  who  took  us,  with  three  others,  to  lunch 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       215 

somewhere  nearby.  Ewer  then  approached  me  on 
the  subject  of  doing  a  head  of  Lansbury — there  is 
terribly  little  time,  but  I  said  I  thought  I  could  do 
it  if  Lansbury  would  sit  every  day  for  an  hour. 
Ev^en  that  only  gives  me  four  days.  Lansbury  de- 
murred and  was  shy  and  had  to  be  talked  to 
severely.  Finally  he  consented.  He's  got  a  good 
head,  a  very  characteristic  one,  which  should  not 
be  difficult.  I  find  him  easy  to  talk  to,  and  he 
seems  to  love   (as  I  do)   to  talk  over  Moscow. 

Jan.  18.     Tuesday. 

Lansbury  sat  at  10:30.  Lunched  with  Dennis 
Trefusis  at  the  Cafe  Royal — while  we  were  lunch- 
ing Sidney  brought  me  my  passport. 

After  lunch  Dennis  came  with  me  to  the  Ameri- 
can Consulate,  but  it  was  useless  as  I  hadn't  the 
lawyer's  letter  vouching  for  my  respectability! 
What  red  tape — time  is  getting  short ! 

At  5  I  had  tea  with  the  Forbes  Robertsons.  I 
am  to  take  care  of  "Blossom"  who  is  crossing  on 
the  Aqiiitan'ia.  I  stupidly  thought  of  her  as  I  had 
known  her  years  ago,  a  lovely  child,  and  I  told 
her  mother  on  the  telephone  that  I  would  be  de- 
lighted to  take  care  of  her,  and  that  I'd  wash 
her  and  dress  her!  Blossom,  however,  turns  out 
to  be  grown  up  1 

I  have  changed  my  mind  about  not  taking  Dick 
and  Louise  with  me  and  I  rang  up  Fitzie,  who 


2i6  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

marvelously  was  not  bad  tempered  at  being  asked 
to  get  the  ticket  back  from  Cooks'.  He  just 
laughed,  and  did  as  I  asked  him,  and  cancelled 
the  cancellations.  I  don't  know  why  I've  changed 
my  mind.  I  just  have  a  blind  instinct  that  I  must 
have  Dick  on  the  other  side  of  the  ocean.  I  will 
trust  to  luck  that  he  will  be  taken  care  of,  and 
Providence  never  lets  me  down. 

Jan.  19.  Wednesday. 
Lansbury  came  punctually  at  10:30.  He  stayed 
till  12:15,  and  talked  the  whole  time.  I  think  he 
likes  me  and  does  not  find  it  tedious  to  "sit"  as 
he  expected.  Mr.  Ewer  did  not  come  which 
shows  that  he  did  not  mind  facing  the  hours  alone 
with  me.  We  talked  a  good  deal  about  Moscow, 
and  about  Lenin,  and  we  both  agreed  about  Lenin 
being  curiously  obstinate  in  his  own  views.  For 
instance,  nothing  that  one  can  tell  him  about  the 
position  in  England  avails  in  any  way.  He  per- 
sists in  his  misinformation.  Lansbury  assured 
Lenin  there  was  no  Revolutionary  movement  in 
England  that  was  of  any  account — but  this  he 
simply  would  not  believe.  At  midday  Lansbury 
rushed  away,  late  for  his  meeting!  A  few 
minutes  later  Mr.  Cousins,  the  President  of  the 
Phrenological  Society,  arrived  and  I  spent  an  ab- 
sorbingly interesting  hour  with  him.  He 
measured  the  Russian  heads  as  far  as  it  was  possi- 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       217 

ble,  but  unfortunately  the  measurements  that  con- 
cern me  are  not  the  measurements  that  concern 
him.  His  interest  centers  in  the  back  of  the  head 
and  cranium, — mine  of  course  is  with  the  features 
and  outline  of  the  face.  He  was,  however,  able 
to  deduce  a  good  deal,  and  while  he  was  measur- 
ing and  observing  I  took  down  hasty  notes  of  what 
he  dictated.  His  summing  up  of  each  man  was  so 
accurate, — at  least  it  coincided  so  extraordinarily 
with  the  judgment  I  had  formed  of  them  myself, 
that  I  accused  him  of  knowing  something  about 
them  individually.  But  he  assured  me  he  knew 
nothing  whatever  beyond  the  average  prejudices 
shared  by  the  general  public. 

I  confess  that  I  had  viewed  with  some  anxiety 
the  report  he  might  make.  For  instance  suppose 
he  had  declared  sweepingly  that  they  all  were 
criminal  lunatics!  I  should  have  been  terribly  dis- 
appointed. I  felt  like  some  one  who  goes  to  a 
fortune  teller,  impelled  by  curiosity,  but  terri- 
fied of  what  he  might  hear.  It  turned  out  so 
much  better  than  I  expected  that  I  warned  Mr. 
Cousins  his  report,  if  made  public,  would  savor 
of  Bolshevik  propaganda,  and  would  recoil  (I  can 
now  speak  feelingly!)  on  his  own  head!  One 
thing  which  had  been  mystifying  me  was  the  fact 
that  three  out  of  the  four  men  I  did  in  Moscow 
had  sloping  backs  to  their  heads.  The  one  who 
apparently  had  nvl  was  Trotsky,  but  then  his  hair 


21 8  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

is  so  thick  that  it  was  difficult  to  tell  whether  he 
also  had  this  characteristic  or  not.  Mr.  Cousins 
explained  to  me  that  it  meant  their  powers  of  con- 
centration and  administration  outbalanced  and 
counter-balanced  their  amativ^eness. 

In  a  letter,  Mr.  E.  W.  Cousins,  President  of 
the  British  Phrenological  Society,  Incorporated, 
generalizes  the  characteristics  of  the  leaders  from 
the  scientific  standpoint.  He  says:  "Education 
and  environment  are  very  important  factors  af- 
fecting the  expression  of  mentality.  The  present 
leaders  of  the  Bolsheviks  have  without  exception 
been  in  prison  or  suffered  severe  punishment  on 
account  of  their  opinions.  This  treatment  must 
be  considered  in  judging  their  character.  It  must 
affect  their  mental  outlook. 

"Considering  the  exhausted  and  bleeding  condi- 
tion of  the  country  when  they  assumed  power  they 
were  compelled  to  act  swiftly  and  drastically. 
The  problems  they  had  to  face  were  tremendous. 

"The  leaders  of  the  present  government  are  all 
firm,  determined,  energetic,  hard  workers  and 
hard  fighters.  The  softer  elements  in  their  nature 
are  kept  in  the  background  by  the  force  of  cir- 
cumstances. They  are  all  idealists  and  their  con- 
scientiousness will  tend  in  the  direction  of  their 
ideals.  Any  judgment  of  their  character  must 
take  these  factors  into  consideration.  They  have 
so  much  business  and  so  little  time  that  they  have 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       219 

no  room  for  a  patient  policy,  and  obstacles  to 
their  schemes  have  to  be  swept  aside.  In  this 
sense  they  may  be  cruel  and  harsh  but  it  is  not  cor- 
rect to  say  that  they  are  cruel  and  bloodthirsty 
from  a  liking  or  disposition  to  be  such.  They 
can  be  guilty  of  severity  when  in  their  opinion  the 
conditions  demand  it,  but  these  men  prefer  other 
methods." 

Before  proceeding  with  each  in  detail  he 
summed  them  up  as  follows: 

Lenin:  the  statesman. 

Trotsky:  the  military  leader. 

Zinoviev:  the  practical  administrator. 

Dsirjinsky:  the  aesthete  and  the  philosopher. 

Krassin:  the  business  head. 

Unfortunately  Kamenev's  bust  had  not  re- 
turned from  the  foundry,  so  there  was  no  pro- 
nouncement on  him  at  all. 

LENIN:  His  perceptive  ability  is  excellent. 
He  is  able  to  judge  the  qualities  of  things,  and  his 
sense  of  order  is  good.  His  reflective  power  is 
also  large.  He  is  a  thinker.  Has  good  planning 
ability  and  is  systematic.  He  has  great  ideals 
and  wishes  to  do  things  on  a  large  scale,  is  benevo- 
lent and  firm,  with  great  determination. 

The  religious*  powers  are  considerable;  their 
expression  will  be  in  the  direction  prompted  by 
his  education  and  environment.     Spirituality  ap- 

•  Religious  in  this  sense  means  ideals  or  beliefs. 


220  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

pears  to  be  large.  He  is  not  particularly  anxious 
to  please,  but  will  be  more  gracious  to  women 
than  men,  unless  the  men  are  very  closely  as- 
sociated with  his  ideals  and  purposes,  and  pull  in 
the  same  direction  as  himself.  His  intuition  does 
not  appear  to  be  relatively  strong,  and  he  may 
sometimes  fail  properly  to  appreciate  and  under- 
stand the  position  of  other  men.  He  has  con- 
siderable driving  power  and  energy.  He  is  secre- 
tive, careful  and  combative.  He  has  a  strong 
sense  of  his  own  weight  and  power  and  desires 
everything  to  contribute  to  his  own  purposes  and 
ideals.  I  can  imagine  him  wishing  to  sweep  away 
every  obstacle  that  may  hinder  the  progress  of  his 
schemes,  but  he  has  no  pleasure  or  delight  in  the 
means  which  appear  under  the  present  conditions 
to  be  essential  and  right.  In  other  words,  his 
sense  of  right  operates  in  a  direction  which  he 
considers  to  be  right. 

He  is  ambitious  to  achieve.  He  acquires,  not 
to  amass  wealth  so  much  as  mental  gifts  and 
power.  He  will  not  easily  be  moved  from  his 
course.  His  social  instincts  are  good  but  well 
under  the  control  of  his  intellect.  He  appreciates 
friends  and  children  and  the  opposite  sex.  This 
latter  power  controlled  by  his  benevolence,  rever- 
ence and  conscientiousness  will  cause  him  to  be 
gracious  to  women  and  considerate  for  their  in- 
terests. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       221 

TROTSKY :  His  intellect  controls  his  social 
feelings.  Considerable  temporal  lobe  means 
strong  self-preserving  instinct.  He  is  cautious, 
diplomatic  and  energetic.  His  whole  heart  goes 
into  the  scheme  in  hand.  He  has  great  perceptive 
powers  and  has  particular  ability  to  focus  and  in- 
dividualize and  estimate  sizes  and  weights.  A 
keen  sense  of  place  helps  him  in  his  military  move- 
ments. He  is  critical,  original,  constructive  and 
analytical.  Has  excellent  planning  powers,  is 
very  intuitive  in  practical  affairs,  will  sense  as  well 
as  plan  things.  Can  be  agreeable  but  is  brusque 
because  he  is  busy.  He  is  firm,  determined,  ideal- 
istic and  has  large  self-esteem.  He  is  right  from 
his  own  point  of  view.  He  wants  to  do  things  on 
a  big  scale.  Has  courage  and  fighting  spirit  so 
strong  that  it  swamps  his  amativeness. 

ZINOFIEF:  A  democratic  autocrat,  not  ac- 
tuated by  his  self-esteem,  but  driven  by  his  ideals. 
Has  good  planning  and  organizing  ability.  He  is 
critical,  but  his  fault-finding  is  toned  by  human 
sympathy.  A  sensualist  but  controlled.  Artistic, 
courageous,  determined,  and  with  a  broad  outlook 
and  a  wide  vision.  Energetic  and  ambitious  and 
a  fighter.  Has  less  religious  feeling  than  the 
others.  Would  have  excelled  as  a  musician  if  he 
had  had  time.  Has  only  a  fair  desire  to  be  agree- 
able.    Intuitive,  aggressive  and  obstinate. 


222  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

DSIRJINSKY:  More  theoretical  than  execu- 
tive. Moral  region  less  pronounced  than  in  the 
other  men.  Efficiency  is  his  great  characteristic. 
He  is  exacting,  critical,  often  irritable  and  suffers 
from  liver. 

Great  powers  of  expression;  active  and  ener- 
getic mentally  and  physically,  but  especially  men- 
tally. This  man  supplies  what  the  others  have 
not;  excellent  reflective  powers.  Ascetic,  ideal- 
istic, philosophical,  theoretical,  analytical  and  con- 
structive in  the  mental  line.  Great  literary  pow- 
ers. Exacting  on  every  one  but  more  exacting  on 
himself.  Has  benevolence  and  veneration.  Dom- 
inated by  the  intellectual.  Enthusiastic,  appre- 
ciates the  beautiful,  the  grand,  the  sublime. 

KRASSIN :  Fine  perceptive  power.  Keen 
sense  of  qualities  of  things  and  details.  Has  good 
reflective  powers,  has  practical  common  sense,  a 
keen  sense  of  values,  is  diplomatic,  and  has  prac- 
tical intuition.  Good  powers  of  expression  and 
knows  what  he  wants,  and  is  determined  to 
achieve  his  ends.  Is  considerably  endowed  with 
social  instincts,  has  a  good  consciousness  of  his 
own  ability  and  has  ambition.  He  is  friendly  and 
appreciates  children. 

ALL  are  idealistic,  determined  and  courageous 
and  forceful.  They  are  all  rather  disgruntled 
men,  who  have  suffered  imprisonment,  which  has 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       223 

poisoned  their  outlook.  They  are  dissatisfied  with 
the  present  state  of  things  and  determined  to 
force  their  ideals  on  others. 

In  the  afternoon  I  went  with  Sidney  to  the  U.  S. 
Consulate,  armed  w'ith  the  necessary  letter.  A 
good  looking  gray-haired  young  man  looked  at  me 
critically  and  invited  me  to  "leave"  my  passport 
and  call  for  it  on  Saturday  morning.  I  explained 
my  ship  sailed  on  Saturday !  He  promised  to  have 
it  especially  seen  to  immediately — that  is  "as  soon 
as  possible" — evidently  there  was  a  hitch.  There 
seemed  little  enough  time  for  hitches.  Later  in 
the  day,  he  telephoned  and  made  an  appointment 
for  me  to  see  the  consul  himself,  Mr.  Skinner,  at 
10  A.  M. 

J.\N.  20.      Thursday. 

Papa  met  me  at  the  Consulate.  Mr.  Skinner 
was  extremely  polite  and  showed  a  desire  to  help, 
but  was  very  non-committal  as  to  his  own  powers, 
or  any  one  else's.  After  a  lot  of  talk  and  ques- 
tioning, I  said  to  him: 

"It  seems  to  me  more  difficult  to  get  into  the 
States  than  into  Russia — "  He  smiled  grimly 
and  said:  "Yes,  it's  hard  to  get  into  the  Kingdom 
of  Heaven."  I  went  away  with  no  hope,  and  no 
despair.  He  had  promised  nothing  and  counseled 
nothing.  I  expected  a  telephone  call  all  day  but 
none  came. 


224  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

Jan.  21.  Friday. 
The  early  morning  post  brought  me  a  letter 
from  the  Consul,  advising  me  to  cancel  my  berths 
on  the  Aquitania  as  he  did  not  expect  to  be  able 
to  do  anything  in  time  for  me  to  get  off  Saturday. 
Accordingly  I  rang  up  Papa  and  he  offered  to  go 
immediately  to  the  Cunard  Company  and  see  what 
he  could  do.  I  telegraphed  to  Willie  Wavertree 
at  Horseley  so  that  he  should  not  bring  Margaret* 
and  Rosemary  to  the  ship  to  see  me  off.  Then  I 
reflected  on  the  situation  sadly  but  philosophically. 
Everything  that  happens  to  me,  that  is  not  of  my 
own  planning,  always  turns  out  for  the  best.  I 
have  never  believed  that  I  am  the  arbiter  of  my 
own  fate, — so  I  accepted  the  position  and  not 
without  curiosity  and  interest  prepared  to  await 
developments.  The  only  evils  that  I  could  see 
were,  ist,  the  possibility  that  I  might  have  to  for- 
feit the  journey  money  (no  joke)  and  2nd,  that 
if  the  U.  S.  definitely  refused  me  a  vise,  I  might 
find  an  equal  diflEculty  if  I  tried  France  or  Italy, 
as  all  these  governments  copy  one  another.  The 
prospect  of  being  marooned  in  England,  with  the 
odd  possibility  of  being  perhaps  allowed  to  enter 
Russia,  was  rather  deplorable  and  I  wrote,  in  the 
heat  of  the  moment,  a  rather  disconnected  letter 
to  Mrs.  Litvinoff,  in  which  I  deplored  Bolshevism 

*  Rosemary  Hall  Walker,  daughter  of  Lord  Wavertree  and 
Margaret  Sheridan. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       225 

and  all  it  inv'olved,  and  said  something  about  not 
having  received  one  single  letter  from  Moscow 
since  my  departure. 

At  10:30  Lansbury  came  to  sit,  soon  followed 
by  Ewer.  I  was  in  the  act  of  explaining  to  them 
that  everything  had  been  cancelled  when  the  tele- 
phone rang  and  Mr.  Skinner,  the  Consul,  informed 
me  that  all  was  clear,  and  if  I  would  come  down 
with  my  passports  immediately  he  would  put  them 
right  for  me.  It  was  a  dramatic  moment.  Lans- 
bury got  down  from  the  model  stand  and  said 
to  me,  "go  at  once"  and  assured  me  I  could  not 
work  in  such  circumstances — he  was  very  kind 
and  considerate,  and  I  let  him  go  with  regret.  I 
have  made  quite  a  good  start  with  him.  How- 
ever, then  came  another  telephone, — it  was  Peter. 
He  offered  to  go  immediately  to  the  Cunard  Com- 
pany and  see  if  he  could  stop  the  transfer  of  my 
ticket.  (The  Cunard  Company  must  think  me 
mad.)  Willie  had  to  be  re-telegraphed  to — the 
Consulate  had  to  be  reached  immediately.  While 
the  passport  was  being  viseed,  a  consular  offi- 
cial observed:  "What  is  against  you,  Mrs. 
Sheridan,  is  that  you  were  not  put  in  prison  when 
you  were  in  Moscow."     So  that  is  the  trouble! 

Loulou  Harcourt  came  to  lunch  and  after 
lunch  my  friends  turned  up  en  masse — Aunt 
Leonie  Leslie  first,  with  Mary  Crawsbray  and 
Priscilla  Annesley  and  Freddy  Dufferin — to  be  sue- 


226  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

ceeded  by  Madame  Krassin,  Bob  Williams,  Ewer, 
Francis  Meynell,  Coates  and  Mrs.  Coates,  Cap- 
tain Grenfell,  and  into  it  came  hurtling  Oswald 
Birley  and  Hazel  Lavery  with  a  young  man  who 
had  just  returned  from  Hungary  and  was  interest- 
ing. What  an  afternoon !  And  then,  having  not 
yet  packed  a  mortal  thing,  I  went  and  dined  at 
Aunt  Jennie's,  a  family  farewell  party.  It  was 
late  when  I  got  back  to  the  studio  and  later  still 
when  I  turned  in.  Three  hours  sleep  I  had  be- 
fore I  caught  my  train. 

Jan.  22,  1921. 

At  8  A.  M.  I  found  an  unexpectedly  large  pro- 
portion of  my  family  at  the  station.  It  was  very 
creditable ! 

Aunt  Jennie  and  Porch,  Aunt  Leonie  and  Papa, 
all  turned  up  in  plenty  of  time  and  looking  nearly 
cheerful.  Oswald  Birley  also  came,  and  just  as 
the  train  was  about  to  start  he  found  a  friend  of 
his,  MacDermot,  whom  he  quickly  introduced. 
Blossom  Forbes  Robertson  was  handed  over  to 
my  care  by  her  father.  Mamma  said  good-by  as 
she  always  says  *'goodnight"  as  if  I  really  was 
going  to  America  I  Peter  came  along  with  us  to 
Liverpool.  I  was  terribly  sleepy,  having  only 
slept  three  hours,  and  whenever  my  eyes  closed 
Dick  sat  on  me  or  fell  on  me,  or  threw  something 
at  me,  or  laughed  or  cried  or  romped  with  Peter. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       227 

When  we  arrived  at  a  view  of  the  ship  and 
Dick  saw  the  four  orange  funnels,  he  shouted  and 
clapped  his  hands  and  stroked  my  face  and  said: 
"Thank  you,  Mema,  for  taking  me  with  you! 
Oh,  thank  you  I"  On  board  we  found  Margaret 
waiting  for  me  in  my  cabin,  and  we  joined  Willie 
and  Rosemary  who  were  lunching  in  the  saloon. 
Margaret  looked  lovely  but  pale  and  big  eyed. 
It  was  a  joy  to  see  her  up  and  dancing  and  run- 
ning once  more,  instead  of  the  little  serious  weak 
girl  I  left  in  bed  after  appendicitis.  She  starts  for 
Cannes  to  join  Sophie*  on  the  19th  which  will  be 
Heaven  for  her,  but  she  hated  not  coming  with 
us  and  how  I  hated  leaving  her.  When  the  gongs 
sounded  for  the  visitors  to  go  ashore,  we  seemed 
to  renew  those  painful  school-day  partings,  but 
I  think  this  time  she  was  the  one  who  did  not  cry. 


Jan.  28.     Saturday.     On  the  eve  of  arrival. 

In  1 9 10  I  went  for  the  first  and  only  time  to 
America,  and  I  remember,  then,  as  now,  I  was 
perhaps  the  only  soul  on  board  who  regretted 
the  journey's  end.  When  on  the  final  morning, 
New  York,  like  a  great  imaginary  dream  city, 
arose  towers  high  from  out  of  the  sea,  every  one 
got  excited  and  restless,  and  conjectured  how  soon 
they  would  be  able  to  leave  the  ship.      I   alone 

•Lady  Wavertrcc,  sister  of  late  Wilfred  Sheridan. 


228  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

looked  on  calmly  and  wonderingly  and  with  the 
curious  sensation  that  to  leave  the  ship  would  be 
a  sort  of  uprooting.  This  time  exactly  the  same 
process  is  evolving  within  me.  I  always  take  root 
anywhere  in  a  week  (unless  the  place  is  unusually 
uncongenial).  I  love  the  sea,  and  the  sound  of 
the  sea,  and  the  big  ship  has  become  like  a  little 
world.  One  has  sifted  out  the  congenial  spirits, 
and  the  rest  don't  count  except  just  as  population. 
It  is  a  motley  crowd.  There  are  besides  the  Brit- 
ish and  the  American,  French,  Russian,  Spanish, 
Italian,  Japanese  and  Chinese.  There  is  an  inter- 
national spirit  among"  us.  Only  the  British  and 
Americans  seem  to  dovetail.  The  French  keep 
exclusively  to  themselves,  so  do  the  Spaniards. 
As  for  the  Japanese,  they  speak  to  none,  and  no 
one  speaks  to  them. 

Lopokova  is  on  board,  the  wonderful  little 
Russian  dancer,  who  ruined  the  Russian  ballet  in 
London  when  she  ran  away  and  was  lost.  She 
was  a  delight  in  the  "Bontique  Fantasque,"  and 
quite  irreplaceable.  She  has  the  sad  wistful  Rus- 
sian face,  that  has  become  familiar  to  me.  I  see 
her  standing  sometimes  a  frail  little  figure  and  all 
alone,  looking  over  the  ship's  side,  and  I  wonder 
what  she  is  thinking  of  so  distantly. 

One  of  the  Orientals  dared  to  ask  if  he  might 
speak  to  her.  She  looked  at  him  with  that  im- 
passive   Russian    dignity    and    shook    her    head. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       229 

"You  arc  Japanese" — but  he  corrected  her, — he 
was  Chinese.  Her  manner  changed  at  once  :  "Ah, 
that  is  delightful,"  and  they  talked  together  for 
some  time.  Commander  Koehler  introduced  us. 
He  is  an  American  naval  officer,  attached  to  the 
State  Department,  who  has  spent  the  last  year 
in  Russia,  of  course  on  the  Wrangel  side. 
Through  him  I  also  met  Petchkoff,  the  adopted 
son  of  Gorky,  who  is  also  on  his  way  to  lecture 
in  America  upon  "the  world  as  he  sees  it."  If 
there  are  any  Russians  or  any  one  in  any  way 
connected  with  Russia  anywhere  near,  I  always 
meet  them.  And  I  am  happy  to  talk  about  Rus- 
sia, and  to  talk  to  Russians.  The  more  different 
their  political  opinions,  the  better. 

Sir  Philip  Gibbs  is  of  our  company.  He  is 
going  to  lecture  on  "The  Condition  of  Europe" 
— Poor  America !  She's  going  to  get  it  from 
every  point  of  view.  I  wonder  what  conclusions 
will  result  in  their  minds!  Sir  Ernest  Shackleton, 
who  contemplates  another  and  third  Polar  expe- 
dition, gave  us  a  very  good  lecture  one  evening. 
It  seems  as  though  the  Polar  earth  were  his  whole 
life  and  being.  As  if  there  was  nothing  else  for 
him.  It  is  an  obsession.  Before  I  knew  he  was 
intent  on  a  third  expedition,  I  remarked  on  his 
broad  back  as  he  paced  the  deck.  "That  Is  the 
back  of  a  man  who  is  determined  to  get  there," 
I  said,  and  perhaps  he  will,  next  time.     From  him 


230  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

and  from  Philip  Gibbs  and  Petchkoff,  all  of  whom 
have  lectured  before,  I  get  a  lot  of  Information, 
some  of  which  daunts  me.  Gibbs  says  one  must 
have  great  courage.  But  Petchkoff  says  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  courage  in  the  world.  There  is 
cowardice,  but  courage  is  really  superfluous  energy 
which  is  generated  by  any  one  of  intelligence  and 
good  health! 

Mr.  Marsh,  the  American  who  rents  Warwick 
Castle,  had  letters  from  Papa  and  from  FItzie, 
asking  him  to  seek  me  out  and  take  special  care 
of  me.  But  Commander  Kochler  and  Frank  Mac- 
Dermot  are  the  two  who  have  taken  upon  them- 
selves this  burden.  Commander  Koehler,  so  far  as 
I  am  concerned,  is  an  experienced  and  invaluable 
adviser.  With  his  help  I  may  steer  clear  of  pitfalls 
and  the  inevitable  snags  of  the  unwary  ignorant! 
Whenever  I  am  in  greatest  need  of  a  friend,  some 
one  falls  metaphorically  from  the  skies.  It  hap- 
pened in  Moscow,  it  is  happening  again.  Provi- 
dence seems  to  send  me  care-takers.  Koehler  is- 
of  White  Russia,  but  he  is  one  of  those  rare  peo- 
ple who  has  a  wide  horizon  and  some  understand- 
ing, whereas  Mr.  Marsh  was  instinctively  hostile 
and  prejudiced  (in  spite  of  Fitz's  letter !!) .  Koeh- 
ler placed  me  at  once,  he  did  not  attack,  he  ques- 
tioned and  then  assisted.  I  gave  him  the  MSS.  of 
my  book  to  read,  and  he  generously  admitted  that 
it  could  not  be  demanded  of  me  that  I  should  tell 


F 


I    M         M 


Left  tr,  Right — Mr.  McDerniott;  Major  Petclikuli,  son  ol  Maxim  G<)rk\  ;  Dick 
Sheridan;  Commander  Hugo  Koehler,  U.  S.  Navy;  Sir  Philip  Gibbs;  Miss 
Forbes-Robertson,  daughter  of  Sir  Johnston  Forbes-Robertson,  the  actor; 
Mme.  Lopokova,  the  Russian  Premiere  Uanseuse ;  Clare  Sheridan;  Rear 
Admiral  Huse,  U.  S.  Navy   (Commander  U.  S.  European  Squadron). 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       231 

other  than  the  truth. — This  I  have  done  in  my 
Diary — day  by  day — as  things  happened,  and 
not  colored  by  after  reflections  and  opinions.  He 
even  says  that  it  would  be  a  pity  if  I  risked  blur- 
ring my  impressions  of  the  men  I  went  to  portray 
by  discussions  of  people  of  opposite  views,  of 
whom  I  saw  much  less. 

Meanwhile  there  are  conflicting  views  on  board. 
Some  say  I  will  not  be  allowed  to  lecture  (no  one 
has  tried  to  find  out  what  I  mean  to  say!),  yet 
others  that  I  will  not  be  allowed  to  land.  All  of 
which  leaves  me  amused  but  quite  unmoved.  I 
know,  of  course,  that  this  is  all  absurd, — possibly 
some  sort  of  a  practical  joke. — So  I  answer  in 
kind : 

"If  I  may  not  lecture  it  may  even  come  as  a 
great  relief.  If  I  may  not  land,  how  interesting 
I  shall  see  Ellis  Island, — as  a  compensation  for 
missing  the  inside  of  a  Bolshevik  prison.  But  if 
I  do  lecture  I  mean  to  say  what  I  please.  I  am 
the  freest  woman  in  the  world  and  of  no  party. 
And  the  only  value  of  life  is  in  liberty." 

We  have  had  a  last  evening  dinner,  MacDer- 
mot  and  I  arranged  it  together.  The  party  con- 
sisted of  Admiral  Huse,  Commander  Koehler, 
Philip  Gibbs  and  Petchkoff,  Blossom,  Miss  Whytc 
and  Lopokova,  The  Admiral,  who  has  come  into 
our  party  at  this  last,  so  very  late,  moment  is  a 
charming  man.     I   am  lost  in  admiration  of  his 


232  MAYFATR  TO  MOSCOW 

tact  and  diplomacy.  I  hav-e  observed  on  several 
occasions  that  he  has  said  the  right  thing  to  the 
right  person.  For  instance  he  introduced  himself 
to  Petchkoff  and  alluded  to  his  tweed  suit  as  the 
most  distinguished  uniform,  because  of  its  empty 
sleeve. 

At  dinner,  the  headwaiter,  a  man  who  looked 
like  Admiral  Beatty,  and  had  a  breastful  of  dec- 
orations, asked  the  Admiral  what  liqueur  he 
would  like.  The  Admiral  looked  at  him  and 
then  at  his  row  of  ribbons.  One  was  France 
191 5 — one  was  Salisbury  Plain  19 14 — the  first 
was  South  Africa. 

"This  is  rather  an  anti-climax,"  the  Admiral 
said.  "You  and  I  are  about  equal  on  that  (point- 
ing to  the  decorations)  and  then  you  ask  me  what 
liqueurs  Fll  have!"  It  showed  so  much  heat  and 
such  fine  feeling  and  gave  such  pleasure — I  do 
admire  people  who  can  do  those  things  well. 

Jan.  30.    Sunday.    New  York. 

At  6  A.  M.  we  were  waked  by  bugles  so  there 
was  not  a  chance  of  remaining  in  one's  bed  sleep- 
ing! At  7:30  we  had  to  pass  the  doctor,  then 
Admiral  Huse  and  Commander  Koehler  joined 
our  table  for  breakfast. 

A  horrible  morning,  raining  and  cold,  one  might 
have  been  landing  in  England. 

Little  Lopokova  and  I  stood  hand  iii  hand  in 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       233 

the  queue  which  had  to  pass  the  passport  official. 
It  took  time.  So  many  silly  people  on  board  had 
predicted  that  I  should  have  difficulties  that  Koeh- 
ler  promised  to  be  at  my  side  in  case  of  need. 
He  was  amazingly  kind  and  put  up  with  infinite 
boredom  and  endless  waiting  on  our  accounts.  I 
got  clear  immediately  without  the  faintest  hitch, — 
the  rest  of  the  day  was  spent  among  pressmen, 
and  at  one  moment  on  the  upper  deck  I  was  made 
to  face  a  steady  row  of  some  dozen  kodaks  and 
movie  machines.  I  made  Dick  come  with  me,  but 
I  felt  terribly  ridiculous  when  Koehler's  face  ap- 
peared in  the  companionway.  I  felt  like  sinking 
through  the  floor,  but  he  just  laughed  and  under- 
stood and  was  helpful. 

During  lunch  Mr.  Lee  Keedick  appeared  and 
introduced  himself.  I  was  most  agreeably  sur- 
prised. I  had  feared  some  one  rather  pushing 
and  unreasonable,  but  he  was  extremely  nice,  hu- 
man and  sympathetic!  At  his  instigation  I  spent 
a  long  time  over  coffee,  giving  an  interview  to  the 
New  York  "Times"  representative.  The  New 
York  "Times"  is  a  sort  of  god  parent  to  me,  as  it 
published  a  part  of  my  Diary,  but  the  representa- 
tive seemed  to  me  an  utterly  cold  human  machine. 
It  was  like  talking  to  some  soulless  thing;  one  got 
no  response.  He  never  smiled  and  looked  dis- 
satisfied all  the  way  through.    I  worked  very  hard 


234  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

It  seemed  to  me, — and  I  thought  with  no  re- 
sponse.* 

On  shore,  at  last.  Towards  3  130  It  was  pande- 
monium, but  I  got  through  the  customs  with  the 
least  possible  trouble,  owing  to  three  or  four  gal- 
lant men,  one  of  the  Cunard  Line,  who  took  me 
In  charge.  It  was  a  moment  when  I  needed  help. 
And  I  certainly  found  It.  Koehler  was  heaven- 
sent. He  just  took  charge  of  Dick,  took  him  back 
to  the  ship  to  be  out  of  the  hurly-burly,  and  Dick, 
who  has  developed  the  mad  passion  of  a  small 
man  child  for  a  large  mature  man,  went  off  with 
him  in  delight.  Again,  it  Is  Impossible  to  describe 
what  I  feel  of  gratitude  for  the  patience  and  kind- 
ness of  my  friends. 

Finally  a  large  party  of  us  drove  off  to  the  Bilt- 
more  hotel  and  Koehler  took  Dick  off  my  hands 
until  evening,  while  I  with  wooly  and  weary  mind 
talked  as  amiably  and  as  intelligently  as  the  oc- 
casion permitted,  to  four  men  at  tea  time!  Mr. 
Keedick  had  a  secretary  waiting  for  me  and  she 
seems  splendid  and  capable.  She  is  to  go  on  tour 
with  me.  It  Is  a  great  help.  At  8  I  got  clear 
and  Koehler  took  me  to  dine  at  the  Ritz  and  then 
we  were  able  to  talk  peacefully  for  the  first  time 
In  the  long  eventful  day.  He  was  delighted  with 
Dick  who  seems  to  have  made  intelligent  remarks 
about  New  York  which  amused  him.     One  of  his 

*  Editor's  note.     See  page  236. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       235 

questions  was,  why  were  there  no  chimney  pots 

on   top  of  the   skyscrapers.     Why   indeed ? 

now  I  come  to  think  of  it!  He  loved  the  lighted- 
up  advertisements  and  said  they  help  to  light  the 
streets! 

He  brought  me  home  after  11  p.  M.  The  sen- 
tinel chaperones  who  are  seated  behind  desks  that 
are  like  machine  guns  placed  in  commanding  po- 
sitions at  the  end  of  each  corridor  gave  one  a 
wicked  feeling  of  guilt.  One  has  the  impression 
that  these  severe  ladies  with  their  ledgers,  who 
observe  one's  every  going  in  and  coming  out,  are 
recording  opposite  to  the  number  of  the  room, 
who  went  in,  at  what  time,  and  the  length  of  stay. 
Koehler  left  to  catch  a  midnight  train  for  Wash- 
ington,— how  wicked,  how  adventurous,  how  dev- 
ilish one  feels  with  the  consciousness  of  the  watch- 
ers outside  the  door!  Trotsky's  sentinel  with 
fixed  bayonet  was  nothing  in  comparison — besides, 
he  did  not  rouse  the  same  curious  contrary  and 
self-conscious  feelings  in  me.  A  sentinel  woman 
is  a  terrible  thing,  and  a  ledger  is  a  worse  weapon 
than  a  bayonet. 

Jan.  31,  Monday.     Biltmore  Hotel. 

I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  here  weeks!     Although 

I  have  not  left  my  room  so  many  people  have 

passed   through   it.      I   have  been   photographed 

and  given  interviews  all  day.     The  weariness  is 


236  MAYFATR  TO  MOSCOW 

in  trying  not  to  be  indiscreet.  It  will  become  sec- 
ond nature  to  me  soon  to  be  cautious  I  How 
unlike  me. 

As  for  Russia,  I  am  weary  of  saying  what  T 
think  about  it!  But  I  feel  encouraged.  My 
patience  and  my  civility  is  not  in  vain.  The  New 
York  "Times"  representative  whom  I  thought  so 
cold  and  unresponsive  has  written  a  most  charm- 
ing account  of  his  interview  with  me.  It  is  ac- 
curate, in  good  taste  and  absolutely  in  the  right 
spirit.  But  I  am  no  longer  free  in  body  and  soul. 
I  have  to  do  what  I  am  told  by  Mr.  Lee  Keedick. 
It  is  very  odd.  I  am  so  surprised  at  myself,  that 
I  feel  as  if  I  were  outside  and  looking  on  at  myself 
with  dispassion  and  amusement.  How  long  will 
this  curious  situation  last  and  what  will  it  lead  to 
in  the  end ? 

I  am  to  make  my  first  lecture  next  Friday  here 
in  New  York.  Mon  Dieu!  Mon  Dieu!  What 
a  funny  thing  for  me  to  be  going  to  do. 

At  six  this  evening  John  Spargo  came  to  see 
me.  This  was  informal.  I  really  did  not  know 
much  about  him,  but  I  ought  to.  He  is,  or  was, 
the  leading  Socialist  here.  He  is  an  Englishman. 
He  knows  the  Bolshevik  leaders  and  gave  me  a 
copy  of  his  book  called  "The  Greatest  Failure  in 
all  History."  It  would  be  interesting  to  get  the 
Moscow  view  of  him !  How  they  must  hate  him. 
Dick  insisted  we  should  accompany  him  down  to 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       237 

the  "playroom"  which  is  the  room  full  of  toys, 
a  sort  of  Heaven-Nursery  provided  by  the  hotel. 
They  both  slid  down  the  sliding  plank!  John 
Spargo  was  intensely  interesting  in  his  analysis  of 
Lenin  and  Trotsky.  He  is  rather  disillusioning 
about  Lenin.  In  his  estimation  Lenin  is  not  even 
a  thinker.  He  says  that  Lenin  is  merely  a  primi- 
tive mind.  He  said  that  Tolstoi  was  the  same. 
It  was  an  illusion  to  think  of  him  as  a  thinker. 
It  was  "complex  Europe  trying  to  understand  the 
primitive  mind,"  he  said.  Trotsky  he  referred  to 
as  "a  whirlwind  among  dry  leaves."  He  thought 
that  any  one  with  fire  and  force  like  Trotsky  could 
create  an  army  and  enthuse  the  Slav  dull  minds! 
Here  where  there  is  education,  energy  and  com- 
mon sense  thought,  Trotsky  "cut  no  ice."  He 
agreed,  however,  with  my  assertion  that  Trotsky 
has  developed  and  evolved  with  his  position  since 
he  went  away  from  here. 

I  wasn't  in  the  least  influenced  by  what  John 
Spargo  said,  but  I  was  deeply  interested  in  the 
way  he  said  it.  His  remarks  are  crisp  and  illus- 
trative. 

Later. 
I  have  not  yet  got  my  bearings  nor  do  I  under- 
stand the  psychology  of  New  York.     I  am  worn 
out  going  from  place  to  place  that  I  am  asked  to, 
and  my  odd  spare  moments  are  spent  in  writing 


238  MAYFAIR  TO  MOSCOW 

little  social  notes  of  thanks  or  refusal.  The  tele- 
phone never  stops.  America  is  known  world- 
wide for  its  hospitality  and  its  genius  for  enter- 
taining. Nevertheless,  I  feel  rather  lonely  in  a 
big  busy  prosperous  world.  I  go  to  parties  where 
there  are  so  many  people  that  I  come  away  as  I 
arrived,  a  perfect  stranger.  Names  mean  nothing 
to  me,  and  it  is  impossible  to  remember  so  many 
faces. 

America  offers  one  so  much  food,  but  will  it 
offer  one  work?  I  have  never  been  so  unproduc- 
tively  busy.  Sometimes  I  forget  that  I  have  not 
come  to  America  for  a  spree.  In  time  I  shall 
settle  down  and  sift  out  my  friends.  Until  then 
I  drift  along  ignorantly.  It  is  bewildering  but 
interesting.  On  account  of  my  family,  I  am  in 
touch  with  the  social  side  of  New  York.  Through 
my  profession  I  belong  to  the  artists.  On  account 
of  my  Russian  adventure,  I  am  beset  by  every 
kind  of  political  current.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  in  a 
rudderless  boat,  wind  tossed,  at  the  mercy  of  tide 
and  storm.  Had  I  a  friend,  knowledgable,  and 
farseeing,  who  cared  enough,  I  could  be  steered 
carefully.  As  things  are,  I  must  be  my  own 
"look-out."  But  difficulties  add  to  the  zest  of 
Life.  Endeavoring  to  overcome  difficulties  is  like 
battling  up  hill  against  the  wind  on  an  autumn 
day.  One  comes  out  of  it  with  a  sense  of  health 
and  glow. 


CLARE  SHERIDAN'S  DIARY       239 

"For  I  know  that  good  is  coming  to  me,  that 
good  is  always  coming — "  is  the  quotation  I 
chalked  up  on  the  black  wall  of  my  studio  years 
ago.  And  it  has  proved  true.  The  words  are 
indelible  in  my  mind  and  in  my  heart.  But  there 
are  moments  when  I  feel  as  I  did  in  Moscow,  that 
however  kind  people  are,  one  really  stands  quite 
alone. 


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